


My Name is Human

by lobitoglobo



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Dark Humor, Drug Use, Epic, Feel good underdog fic, Flashbacks, Gen, Humor, Minor Character Death, Multi, PTSD, Preston Positive, Suicidal Thoughts for a hot minute, Tags May Change, Torture, Vault Tec dropped the bombs tbh, Vault Tec negative, just slow, keep an eye on that bub, proofread? i don't know her, slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-10-20 20:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10670427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobitoglobo/pseuds/lobitoglobo
Summary: This story follows Griffin Bell, Nora's brother, from the bombs dropping to the ultimate fate of the Commonwealth. His nephew, Shaun, is his top priority, but things get tricky when he starts putting pieces together and has to choose a side. Or does he? Griffin explores his own humanity, what it means to be oneself, and answers the controversial question - can machinery truly become human?---"You wanna know what I was doing before the bombs, Susan?! Reading comics. You wanna know what I'm gonna go do right now, Susan? Read some goddamn comics!" Griffin threw his hands up, marching into the comic store, with or without his companions."Woof!" Dogmeat trotted after him, tail wagging happily."Oh for the love of God. That's the guy fighting for the Commonwealth? You've gotta be shitting me.""We're gonna die. We're gonna fucking die."___





	1. The Sound of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> well holy shit i did the thing. thanks to my friend who gave me the courage to do the thing. let me know how you like this thing. unsure how to summarize the thing. 
> 
> basically everything besides my boy griffin is owned by bethesda. most tags are for later things in the thing. idk if my guy is gonna diddle the do. epic adventure. rating may change, tags my change, i, may change. but you know what doesn't change? war. war never changes. 
> 
> yes, i do feel bad and no, i'm not editing it out.

_And next up, we’ll talk with our favorite cook, Miss Cassidy over here, on the best way to make a pumpkin pie, the best treats to serve at your family dinner, and whether or not it’s too early to start prepping for Thanksgiving!_  
  
_[laughter] Thanks, Scott. Alright, everyone, grab your pens or whatever, and let’s get cookin’!_  
  
            Griffin hummed to himself as he turned the volume down on his old car stereo, eyeballing address plates on the suburban houses. He was searching for one in particular, and damn near passed it until his sister threw the door open and ran down the sidewalk.  
  
            “Griffin! Hey!” She shouted, wearing her Morticia costume. Griffin snorted to himself as he gave a wave and parked, grabbing the pasta salad from the passenger’s seat. His sister was tapping on his window, gradually increasing speed until he popped it open, hearing her snort with laughter.  
  
            “I see you haven’t grown up any, Nora.” Griffin teased, putting the salad on the hood of the car and wrapping her up in a big bear hug. Her arms wrapped around his neck, practically choking him out. Griffin mentioned this to her, only causing her to hold on tighter.  
  
            “And I see you’re still a whiney brat!” They laughed and parted, and a male voice called for Nora from inside the house. Griffin recognized the kind voice as Nate, her husband. He remembered writing her letters from deployment, making fun of their names. Now, he couldn’t imagine his sister married to a better man.  
  
            “Well, you know me, kid. Always bitching.” He said, grabbing the salad and following behind Nora. Once inside, Griffin introduced himself to the other house guests, gathering names he’d forget in the next couple of hours and really only holding on to the fact that they were his family’s neighbors. If Griffin was to be honest with himself, he was just being polite. In the next five years, if they were still around, well, then he’d talk to Mrs. Blonde Housewife about her next DIY or Mr. Beer Belly about his sweet ride. Belly’s words, not Griffin’s.  
  
            “Griffin! Glad you made it!” Nate called to him, dressed as Gomez. Griffin wolf whistled as they did the customary man hug and clap on the back.  
  
            “Lookin’ good, brother. You know Nora would call an airstrike if I didn’t. That, or a search party.” Griffin joked, Nate laughing as he grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge.  
  
            “All jokes aside, man, we really enjoy you here. I know she goes crazy when you don’t write. You’re home for good, though, right?”  
  
            “Yup. Finished my tours, and they really don’t like the idea of a man with a fake leg behind the machine guns.” Griffin cracked open the beer, taking a long pull before leaning against the barstool. “So, Nate, how was your speech the other night? Nora couldn’t stop cooing about it.”  
  
            Nate sighed, shrugged, and pulled the modesty card. “Wasn’t too bad. They really liked the whole ‘war never changes’ bit, but that could be my imagination.”  
  
            “War never changes? How long did it take to come up with that, eh?” Griffin bullied, earning a halfhearted shove from Nate.  
  
            “Oh shut up, man, I had a few choice quotes of yours in there, too.”  
  
            “Oh yeah? Was it something dark and brooding? Or perhaps the famous Griffin special of ‘that’s gonna hurt in the morning’?” Nate turned to him, took a swig off his beer and leveled him with a warm gaze before shaking his head.  
  
            “I’ll get you a holotape copy. Lord only knows Nora made like, ten of them.”  
  
            They continued the classic bullshitting of theirs, talking about Griffin’s next step after being honorably discharged, Nate’s next step from giving speeches and living the padded life, and the newborn baby that would be calling him Uncle.  
  
            Their Mister Handy, Codsworth, brought them both another beer.  
  
            “Mister Griffin! My, do you look gorgeous and alive. The mum misses you terribly and wishes you would come around more often. And sir! Young Shaun is growing restless. I think he needs some of your ‘paternal affection’ you seem to be so good at?” Nate chuckled, setting his beer down. The robot hadn’t really gathered when to time new drinks yet, nor how to greet people smoothly, but was doing well with their newborn.  
  
            “Duty calls, Griffin. Go mingle; I think Stacy McNabb wouldn’t mind your company.” Nate winked and waggled his eyebrows, laughing as Griffin nearly choked on his beer.  
  
            After he composed himself, he excused himself outside for a cigarette. One thing from the army that never got beaten out of him was the habit of smoking. With an exhale, Griffin took in the surroundings of the cul-de-sac.  
  
            The giant tree in the middle was strong, and the children of the neighborhood left their mark with nailed in signs and rope swings. A child dressed as a super hero was telling the other kids a grandiose story, if his gestures and volume were anything to go by. A few princesses skipped around their make shift kingdoms, dogs with sparkly leashes their horses, and the poor boys with innocent crushes, their knights.  
  
            The air smelled like crunchy leaves and pie, every kitchen window in the neighborhood opened with a pie cooling in the window. Decorations dotted every house’s lawn, cardboard scarecrows and red menace skulls placed amongst face cobwebs and carved pumpkins. Nate and Nora had chosen cardboard tombstones and cheesy zombies crawling out of the ground. Griffin walking lazily through them and read the corny names.  
  
            He stopped in front of one Dr. Bones, chuckling at the image of his favorite doctor from his tours. She was a grumpy older woman with graying brown hair and sharp brown eyes. While quick to call you an idiot for tripping over your own damn feet and getting shot, she was even quicker to assure you that you did everything you could to save them, them being the fellow soldiers and civilian casualties.  
  
            The wind picked up as Griffin paid his respects to the doctor in heaven, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette as his gaze got far away, again.  
  
_It had been when his leg was blown off by a grenade. It was meant for the innocent family of the war torn town they resided in, the young girl wearing a blood stained jacket and her son, an eyepatch. Griffin had shoved them out of the way and behind his power armor suit, which he’d left in order to move quick enough. Without thinking, he kicked the damn thing and felt his eyes roll into the back of his head as the pain knocked him out. His thigh began aching in present day as he remembers the screaming, his screaming, and the doctor cursing him for being a goddamn bleeding heart._  
  
            “…Griffin? Griffin!” He shook his head, snapping out of the memory and looking up to meet the worried eyes of Nora. She picked up the hem of her black dress and made her way through the Halloween graveyard, treating it as the graveyard of the fallen. “You okay, big bro?”  
  
            “Yeah. Just thinking.” Griffin said, taking in last drag of his cigarette before putting it in the beer bottle. He gave Nora a half smile and a peck on the head while moving past her to their garbage can. When he turned back to see if she had followed, she still had the worried look on her face.  
  
            “You know, just because I’m a lawyer doesn’t mean I’m not smart in other areas of knowledge.”  
  
            “I never said you weren’t, sis.”  
  
            “Yeah, well, you looked like you were back there. I was worried Nate wouldn’t like the tombstones, and I totally forgot about you. Your letters didn’t really tell me much about what happened there.”  
  
            “It’s not something you write about, at least not right then.” Griffin said, looking away.  
  
            “Well, if you wanna talk about it, I’m here. And Nate, I know you guys have gotten really close.”  
  
            Griffin snorted, giving her a one-armed hug. “Thank you Nora, but let’s not do that right now. It’s Halloween! You’ve got like, an hour before the kids start wailing about candy.” Nora rolled her eyes before pausing, taking notice of something over Griffin's shoulder.  
  
            A blue van pulled up behind Griffin’s car, and an odd man in a yellow coat and rumpled brown hat made his way over to the neighbor’s house.  
  
            “Good evening! Vault-Tec here...”  
  
            “Vault-Tec on Halloween? What a creep.” Griffin mumbled, watching him give the spiel.  
  
            Nora cleared her throat, dragging his suspicious gaze from the salesman. As soon as their eyes met, he knew what his sister had done.  
  
            “Nora, don’t tell me you’re gonna be a Vault Dweller!”  
  
            “What if the bombs fall, Griffin? I’d rather live underground than dead above it.” She said, pouting at him. Griffin shook his head.  
  
            “Someone could sell you your own shoes. If they start asking for monthly donations to keep this so called 'vault' running, I’ll take my chances with the Tupperware and cockroaches.”  
  
            “Well, you don’t need to worry about that. Apparently, Nate  & I are pre-approved, and I signed you up, too. I admit, he may have caught me with a glass of wine already down, but hey. It’s peace of mind! Even if it never happens…”

            "Oh Lord, woman, what have you done?"  
  
            Nora laughed at him, hitting his shoulder as they made it back inside to the warm party. In just a few hours, the kids would start trick or treating, and then they could really start drinking.  
  
            “I’m gonna go check on my husband. I’m sure he’s got his cape stuck in the mobile above the crib or something.” Nora said warmly, leaving him to sit at the bar stool in their kitchen. Griffin’s eye caught the old Grognak the Barbarian comic, and soon enough, he was engrossed in the story about bat babies.  
  
_“And that is how you get a fluffy pie crust, I tell ya Scott, it’s the crust that makes all the difference!”_  
  
_“Well, Cassidy, you sure do make a good –”_  
  
_“BREAKING – We’ve…we’ve just received reports of nuclear detonations. We’re confirming it now; Thomas?”_  
  
            Griffin furrowed his brow, looking at the television.  _Oh good, another fake bomb threat._ It wasn’t unnatural to assume that the reports were fake. They were on the brink of nuclear war. It was the perfect time for publicity stunts and scare tactics.   
  
_“Yes, they’re saying that there was a big boom, followed by…yes, followed by flashes. Blinding flashes.”_  
  
            “Oh god! Nora! Nate, come see this!” Stacy shrieked. The others had already ran outside, the sirens wailing, the front door left open. This was not a scare tactic.  
  
_“…sounds of explosions. We’re – we’re trying to get confirmation, but we seem to have lost contact with our affiliate stations.”_ Griffin's ears started ringing.  
  
            “Oh my God.” Nora whispered, coming up behind Griffin with the baby, Nate behind her.  
  
_“We do have coming in…confirmed reports – I repeat, confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania…My God.”_  
  
            “Fuck, we – we have to go. We have to go now!” Griffin shouted, pushing Nate and Nora outside the door. Codsworth stayed in the living room, and Griffin gave it a nod.  
  
            “Stay safe, honey!” Nora yelled at it.  
  
            “And your family as well, Mum.” It said shakily back. Vertibirds were circling what was probably the Vault just up the hill. Griffin followed Nate, running beside Nora. His mind was whirling. Not ten minutes ago he was reading a comic book, enjoying a frosty beer. Making fun of Nora for giving into the Vault Tec state of mind.  
  
            They hadn’t even had dinner yet.  
  
            They hadn’t even  _made_  dinner yet.  
  
            “Leave the bags, Jackson!” A brown haired woman yelled at her balding husband who was struggling with their luggage. Nate trekked passed them, his mind set on keeping his wife and child safe. Griffin veered and snatched up the luggage.  
  
            “C’mon! Hurry!” The sirens drowned out most of what was said, but they got the gist that he wasn’t robbing them blind. They trailed behind him, thanking him and screaming. The salesman was shouting at the Sergeant at the gates.  
  
            “I AM Vault Tec!”  
  
            “You’re not on the list.”  
  
            “Sir! We’re – We’re on the list!”  
  
            “Adult Male…Adult Female…Infant Male…and Adult Male. Bell?” The Sergeant recognized the name, but now wasn’t the time for ‘how the hell are ya’s. Griffin gave him a subtle nod before pushing the luggage owners in front of him.  
  
            “These guys, too.”  
  
            “Alright, go on ahead to the platform. Godspeed.”  
  
            “Thank you!”  
  
            “Just run!” He shouted, catching up to his sister. She was standing in the middle of the platform with Shaun, Nate hugging them close. Griffin stood still, the sirens deafening. The moment wasn’t mean for him to see.  
  
            He couldn’t think about the children playing by the tree.  
  
            He couldn’t think about the civilians outside the gates begging for mercy.  
  
            He couldn’t think about the people they were leaving behind, the bombs destroying their world.  
  
_A flash…blinding flashes._  
  
            Oh.  
  
            “Can’t this thing go any faster?!”  
  
            “Oh my God!”  
  
_Followed by…yes, followed by flashes._  
  
            Griffin shielded his eyes, crouching down with the luggage and praying to a God he stopped believing in a long time ago.  
  
_God help us all._  
  
            The top sealed shut just as the rush of energy swept over top, killing anything and everything in its path. The wails of the now dead followed the handful of them down the to the vault. Nora was sobbing and Nate was stone faced, crushing them to his chest. The neighbors whose luggage Griffin grabbed were crying, holding each other. The husband tearfully motioned for his bag, realizing that it was all he had left.  
  
            It was all a blur, really. He followed after his family, barely listening to the doctor brief them on the decontamination process. They were given their vault suits, his own fitting too tight. The nurse gave him a good natured comment on being in shape, and fixing it later. Griffin couldn’t believe they weren’t crying.  
  
            Nate and Nora followed the doctor down the hall, Griffin barely registering his surroundings. The neighbors tugged on his arm, thanking him again before handing their suitcase off to be stored in a separate pod for decontamination. They gave him a sad wave,   smiling weakly. Griffin returned the wave.  
  
            “See? Daddy isn’t going very far. And look! Uncle Griffin is right next to daddy.” Nora said, her eyes still streaming with tears. Nate clapped him on the shoulder.  
  
            “We’re over here.”  
  
            Griffin gave Nora a quick squeeze and Shaun a small peck on the forehead, his beard tickling the babies nose. He scrunched it up and giggled.  
  
            “‘Prepared for the Future’, right?” Someone said while climbing into their decontamination pod. Griffin eyed the pod warily before the doctor urged him to just get in, so they could go to the deeper levels and get settled.  
  
            With one last hurrah, he pulled himself into the pod, likening the seat to a carnival ride.  
  
_Yeah. Sure._  
  
            The cool air washed over him, frost forming on his hair and eyelashes as the female voice lulled him into a state of relaxation. Griffin closed his eyes, and nothing else mattered. It all washed away until he was met with the sound of silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh griffin my boy. oooohhh griffin. oh griff buddy. i have so much planned. stay tuned. harass me. for the love of god, harass me. hoping to post weekly ish. yay!


	2. Comfortably Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin wakes up to a world he doesn't know anymore, unsure how to process what happened just moments ago (hours? years?) and fights his way out of the vault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when Griffin said he'd take his chances with the Tupperware and the roaches? HAHA WELL. Thanks for the comments and kudos on the previous chapter, guys! Means a whole lot.

_“...is the one.”_

_“Open it.”_

Griffin’s eyes slid open, his eyelashes sticky with chemical ice and slumber. His limbs ached, the blood thick as sludge as it tried to bring his body back online. 

            _“Is it over? Are we okay?”_

Nora. Griffin moved his arms, slow as molasses, as he tried to adjust in the pod. A few people in what looked like hazmat suits were fiddling with the controls in the back. One of them was helping Nora with Shaun, cooing at the kid.

            _“…wait…I’ve got him!”_

Griffin tried to tap on the glass. Maybe it’d help if his sister saw someone she knew? Nate must not be awake yet. He coughed with the exertion.

            _“I’m only gonna tell you once.”_

            The sinister edge to the unknown’s man voice brought Griffin out of his lulled sense of security, instantly searching as fast as his eyes would let him, scanning for the source.

            _“I’m not giving you Shaun!”_

            Nora cried out at them, and a muffled crack cut her off.

            Oh, fuck.

            “N…no…ra!” Griffin tried to will his body to force the pod open, knocking against the glass. He couldn’t see much, didn’t know if that was what he thought it to be. For all he knew, they’d all walk past his pod as they moved her to a maternity ward or something.

            _“At least we still have a backup.”_

A back up for what? What did Nate have to do with this? Shaun? _What’s going on?!_

Griffin heard the voice from his left, fearing the worst. Before his mind could get enough blood flow to process what that meant, he saw a glimpse of a leather jacket, a balding man, and Shaun swaddled up in the arms of one of the hazmat guys.

            _Cryogenic sequence reinitialized._

\---

            Griffin gasped awake. With heaving breaths, he hit the glass, fearing the worst. _How long was I frozen for?_ The pod hissed open, catching him off guard as he fell out of the thing.

            “Fuck!” He cursed, his prosthetic leg stiff as a board. Griffin crawled over to his sister’s pod controls, trying to remember what they had done to open it.

            A red button underneath the control panel indicated an override. He slapped it and yanked on the lever, forcing the pod to open.

            “C’mon, _c’mon…”_

            Griffin didn’t know what he was willing for. She was gone. He knew that, now.

            The cryogenic statis had frozen the wound solid, but it didn’t take away from the horror. A bullet hole right between her lifeless, brown eyes. Nora’s mouth was still contorted in shock. _Did Vault Tec do this? Why were we frozen?_

“Oh, Nora…” Griffin breathed. He looked away, patting the side of the machine. She was gone, but what about everyone else? _Think, soldier._

            Steeling his resolve, he made his way to the door, a computer monitor catching his eye. He wobbled over to it, the rubber mechanics of his leg thawed just enough for walking, but not much else. He clicked a few of the keys experimentally. Their mascot, a boy with a thumbs up, greeted him, requesting a password.

            “Uh…”

            _password_

_ERROR. TRY AGAIN._

“Shit. Um.” Griffin looked around the monitor, trying to find a clue. It wasn’t like he’d be able to get a network administrator if he needed one. Hell, he really only had a few more minutes at best before the deranged staff came and found him, right?

            He looked at the keyboard, on top the monitor, and on the side of the nearest pod. These guys, as evil as it seemed they were, were human. Some dumbass wrote it down somewhere, and Griffin was going to find it.

            Finally, he flipped the keyboard up to find a piece of tape and the word _pa55word!_ scrawled across it.

            “Bingo.”

            He entered it in, watching the screen unlock and the obligatory “thanks for using Vault Tec!” flashing across the top. Yeah, Griffin was going to turn this place upside down.

            A list of pod occupants and their respective statuses were listed. He scanned for Nate’s name, grimacing as the words “asphyxiation” were highlighted next to it. The others were a myriad of organ failure and miscellaneous other types of death. The neighbors that he helped had both drowned.

            Griffin looked down to the pods of his family, sighing sadly. He didn’t have time to mourn right now. The staff –

            _Wait._

            He turned back to the computer, taking in the time. The year was 2077. The stupid machine was showing 2287. That couldn’t be right. Turning his back on the computer, Griffin sent a silent farewell to his sister and brother in law, vowing to find who did this and make them pay. He’d return to bury them later, do something really nice. Now? Now he had a baby to find.

            Punching the button next to the door, it hissed open with some complaint, flakes of rust dancing around the entry way. Griffin warily made his steps out, checking for trip lines and wires. If the doors were rusted closed, what did that mean about the Vault itself?

            _Has it really been over 200 years?_

Griffin’s teeth chattered as he passed the other room of civilians. The door opened as he neared it, causing him to veer left. Might as well make sure he truly is the only unsuspecting victim alive. The computer’s password was the same, and everyone was still dead. With a shaking sigh, Griffin hit the computer in a fit of frustration, his eyes burning. He turned around too quick and his leg gave out, causing him to flail and grab the railings. In doing so, he saw a giant suit case lodged between the Cofran’s pods.

            _Those bastards couldn’t even put it next to the right people._

He didn’t know why it caused him such rage, but it did. However, the resourceful part of his brain urged him to go and grab it. Who knows what they tried to pack for the apocalypse?

            A gut wrenching wave of survivor’s guilt tore at his insides as he made his way to the luggage. Out of respect, he shouldn’t even touch it. It’s no different than wearing a dead man’s boots. But, as he neared, he figured he’d put it next to the right people even if there was nothing of use. It was the least he could do.

            “Alright, guys, what’d you bring…”

            Unlatching it proved simple enough, and he wasn’t surprised to find it was mostly clothes. A few knick knacks, a lighter, a picture, and some cans of beans were rolled in some of the garments. Towards the bottom of the bag, however, was a set of dog tags. Humming to himself, Griffin decided to search in the bag a little more. There couldn’t be just a lighter in there.

            After moving the food and lighter aside, Griffin felt the bottom of the luggage before finding a ribbon. Giving it an experimental tug, he was pleased to see the bottom pulled back and revealed a boot knife and a pack of cigarettes.

            _My man._

            Griffin shoved it into the boot of his vault suit, the handle catching his eye. _Jackson D. Charles._ Swallowing hard, he thanked Jackson and pocketed the lighter, setting the dog tags and picture up by their forgotten pods.

            He stashed a can of beans behind a pod and held on to the other. If he lived to get out of the damn vault, well, he’d come back for the other one.

            The alarm was still sounding as Griffin made his way through the maze of the vault, grating his nerves. He found an unlocked security terminal, and the idea of being caught was long gone. He was probably the only one left. No one had come to see what was going on, and all he found were old coffee cups and chairs caked in layers of rust and dust.

            The terminal shed some light on why he was here. Something about Vault Tec using this vault as an experiment to see what would happen to the human body over time in a suspended state. It made the bile rise in Griffin’s throat and his face pinched in a frown. The logs from the security team seemed to be dated just for six months before a mutiny started. They had run out of supplies by Christmas.

            If this was anything to go by, then all the other vaults were filled with frozen dead guys and skeletons behind every corner.

            _Holy shit._

            He made his way through the kitchen, finally moving like normal. His muscles still ached and groaned, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before. Poking around the cabinets really didn’t yield much except for a toaster and some empty beer bottles. Another terminal hid a game called the Red Menace. Snorting to himself, he kept rummaging through until he found an old brown ammo bag, a mismatched belt attached to it. It didn’t look like it came with the vault guys, and Griffin had the horrible realization that just because he was out for 200 years didn’t mean the world stopped.

            People could have been coming and going for _years._ Hell, it only took the guys who worked here six months to break. Who’s to say that scavengers and looters didn’t ransack the place, leaving the “icebergs” for dead? Griffin wished he could call them monsters, call them fools, but if the world had just ended and he had happened upon a supplied vault with no one in it, well. He wished he could write them off when he’d probably be doing the same as them.

            Humans were survivors, and there really wasn’t any telling on where you drew the line when your own life was at stake.

            Picking up the forgotten belt and bag, he stashed his can of beans in it, only a little disappointed that there wasn’t anything in it. Once he was pleased he’d searched the entire cafeteria, he moved on.

            To his dismay, a giant bug skittered towards him. Of course, of _fucking course,_ it was a –

            “Giant roaches?! Oh give me a goddamn _break!”_ Griffin shouted at no one in particular when he flung the nearest item (a red tool box) at it. It masterfully dodged him, twitching its antennae smugly at him as it lunged. Griffin drew his knife and slashed the air once, twice, feeling a sick satisfaction as he felt his knife slice through the meat of the roach.

            It screeched at him before dying, its inside leaking over the vault floor.

            “Nasty…” Griffin muttered, wiping the knife off on his thigh, the green staining the blue of his suit. As he glared at the dead roach, he nearly fell on his face when he tripped over a pile of something, nearly yelling out again when he saw it was a skeleton in a faded scientists coat, ink spots (or blood) dotting the back.

            _Am I…the only one left?_

Horrified, he stood back up, the fake leg squeaking in protest. It drew the attention of more giant roaches, escalating from there.

            After fighting them off, Griffin opened a door with a bleak outlook on what was behind it, only to be pleasantly surprised to find just _one_ dusty skeleton and a 10mm pistol. A box of ammunition was opened and one bullet was missing, but it was more than enough to get out of here, Griffin was sure. He shoved the knife back into his boot before checking the clip on the gun and stowing the extra ammo in his bag. A dopey first aid kit was under the desk, and after checking the contents (much more than expected), he shoved that in the bag, too.

            As he snooped through the rest of the mess, he found another pack of cigarettes (pocketed), a couple of bobby pins (useful) and a case with the words “CRYOLATOR” written on the glass. The glass itself was cool to the touch. It was, however, locked to high hell, and Griffin wasn’t about to waste his bullets on busting it open. Who knew if it even worked?

            _Later, my sweet._

            Griffin walked back to the computer, opening it up and bypassing the logs from the overseer. He would later tell you that it was to be efficient, but he honestly couldn’t stomach reading more about how he was an experiment. An experiment that was meant to kill them all in the end, and have their deaths recorded on a spreadsheet somewhere. Grimacing, he tried pushing another bout of survivor’s guilt to the back of his mind.

            _If you’re busy, you won’t think about it. Go find Shaun._

            Right.

            Opening the evacuation tunnel, he cocked the pistol and made his way around towards the entrance of the vault, annihilating the giant roaches along the way.  There was really no reason to dwell on the skeletons, but he kept pausing as he past, wondering if it was even worth fighting to the entrance.

            If everyone down here died, what makes him think he’ll be okay on the surface?

            _You have a gun. You know how to aim._

_You know how to make it quick._

“C’mon, Griffin, quit it. You’ve gotta find Shaun.” He said to himself, shooting a roach as it flew at him through the air and stomping on another one. The sounds it made and how it felt were equally rewarding and revolting.

            With that thought, he leaned against a wall and dry heaved, the contents of his stomach nonexistent.

            “Okay, breathe. In, out. In…out…” Griffin coached himself, taking shuddering breaths before finally moving towards the door controls. His toe nudged the scientist skeleton, causing the forgotten Pip Boy to come alive, beeping at Griffin like it was shaken out of a nap. Picking it up, he latched it onto his wrist, watching the mascot, Vault Boy, give him a thumbs up. Once it fully booted, he followed the instructions to open the door, slapping the giant red button with satisfaction. Lights began flashing and an automated voice told him to stand back. He was leaving.

            _He was leaving._

            The overwhelming sadness and relief nearly knocked him back. Yeah, he was leaving, but no one else was. He stood on the metal grated floor, holding onto the railing as it rolled forward. The automated voice guided him to the platform he came in on, the fresh coat of blue paint damn near gone. What felt like maybe an hour ago was years ago. Two centuries.

            With a sigh, he felt the cage close around the platform.

            _“Enjoy your return to the surface. And thank you for choosing Vault – Tec!”_

The platform made its way up as the ground up top opened up. A clear blue sky greeted him, fluffy clouds passing by lazily. The fresh air caressed his face, playing with loose strands of hair as he was brought back up. Once the platform finally came to a stop, Griffin gasped at the ruined wreckage of the world. His sister’s neighborhood, destroyed. Trees, barren. The grass was yellow and crows kaw’d at the noise he made. The creek still flowed, and from where he stood, the giant tree was still standing, naked and a shell of itself.

            It was equally the most terrible and most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

            It made it real. The little voice in the back of his mind told him he could still go and freeze himself. Die in a state of comfortably numb bliss. Griffin ignored it, remembering his nephew and imagining the horrors this world was bringing upon him.

            He had work to do. With on final glance at the sky line, he turned around and started walking home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to go home and face a robit, Griffin. And get some better clothes, jeez. this was actually written a day after I posted this. I decided to wait an extra day and proofread. Also THANKS AGAIN FOR THE KUDOS AND COMMENTS GUYS!


	3. Robot Sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin meet his sister's old butler and visits Sanctuary again.
> 
> EDIT: Minor punctuation and wording fixed. Nothing major.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo!

Griffin picked his way through the supply crates scattered around the landing zone, remembering the soldier’s places as the bomb was dropped. A skeleton in fatigues lay forgotten and buried under some rubble, the helmet sun bleached and the clothes as tough as cheese cloth. Griffin hoped the death was quick and painless. He hadn’t paid too much attention in science class, but everyone knew nuclear preparedness. If you’re anywhere near the blast zone, your body basically melted.

            _Oh god, what if there’s no people left?_

            One of the supply crates held some cans of purified water and a box of matches and another had hidden a soldier’s back pack. Nothing was in it; it actually looked like someone had taken everything and left it. Furrowing his brow, Griffin kicked it over, expecting the devil himself to come crawling out of it. When nothing happened, he fiddled with the zipper, sighing when the zipper just broke off, years and years of rest rending much of its mechanics useless. The straps seemed fine, and it’s not like he had to go too far. Even if nothing was left, he’d want to check out the old neighborhood. Maybe set up camp there.

            Once he had kicked over the supply crates, not finding much else, he threw the pack over his shoulder, only to feel it all fall out of the bottom and the strap to fray.

            “Oh, goddamn it.” Griffin muttered, not really sure what he was expecting. This wasn’t a video game; it’s not like he could just pick up better and better supplies on the way. Gauging the distance from here to Nora’s old place, he figured he could just bundle it up in the torn pack and carry it in his arms. The dust made his nose itch as he walked down the hill, ignoring the skeletons in dresses and the smaller skeletons next to them. It was quick. _It was quick,_ Griffin thought to himself.

            He came to the old bridge, surprised and suspicious that it was still standing. The creek running underneath it had uncanny clear water, and Griffin supposed that total nuclear annihilation must have cleared out all of the algae and germs. The sky was muggy towards the horizon, but he was sure it would look amazing at sunset. Strange plants greeted him, purple flowers and giant thistles hinting at mutation. Griffin had seen the giant roaches; he had to expect that everything else was probably mutated, too.

            The bridge proved sturdy enough as he made his way across, the uneven clunks of his foot falls breaking the sacred silence of the war torn cul-de-sac. The grass was yellowed after years and years of sparse rain water, and the hedges that the husbands were always so proud of were red and orange messes. Nature was trying to reclaim what the war had left behind, but after two hundred years, it had hardly done anything.

            Griffin made his way through the back yard finally, only tripping on the forgotten lawn flamingos once. When he made it to the sidewalk, he looked up and down the street, the tree roots and yard debris creating uneven terrain. If he was going to make it anywhere without falling on his goddamn face, he was going to have to put something down. It was a tactical decision that he learned from his time during the war; if you could come back to it, leave it. If you couldn’t, hide it and then leave it.

            As he looked around his immediate surrounding for a bush to shove his things into, a mechanical clanking came from his left, causing him to drop everything and pull the 10mm from his suit’s belt loop.

            “Mister Griffin! You’re looking gorgeous, and alive! I can’t believe it!”

            At the end of his barrel was his sister’s old robot butler, its chrome paint chipped and rusted. A few dents here and there suggested it had a run in with something a little mean. Its eyes zoomed and refocused on him, the tendrils bobbing as it took in Griffin.

            “Holy shit. Codsworth.” Griffin deadpanned, his own eyes wide as he looked at the butler. The robot seemed to shiver with joy, probably. Who knew what robots were feeling, or thinking, anyways.

            “It’s so good to see you, Mister Griffin! You’re a bit of a mess, however; best not let my mum see you in that state, she’d have a fit!” Its voice sounded hearty as it finally settled in one spot, all three eyes on him.

            “Yeah, she would.” Griffin murmured, the ache in his chest causing him to look at the ground.

            “No matter; she’ll understand! Just wash your hands for dinner. Speaking of which, you are…200 years late for dinner! She’ll be furious!” Its front eye seemed to zoom towards him accusingly, its buzz saw punctuating the end with a menacing _zzz._

“Codsworth, please…” Griffin looked at its eye, steeling himself. If the robot went berserk after hearing its masters were gone, well, he could put it down. It wasn’t like the military robots that Griffin opposed, _loudly_.

            “Hmm? Did you want a snack, sir? Perhaps some water?”

            “Nate and Nora…they’re…they’re dead, Codsworth.” Griffin said, watching the robot warily as he said it. One of the eyes seemed to catch movement from somewhere else as it spun around to scan; the other two were still trained on him, refocusing ever so slightly every few seconds or so.

            “These things, these terrible things you’re saying, I don’t understand. Should I try to find mum? Are you suffering from an episode of PTSD?” It asked, the third eye finally swiveling back around to survey him.

            “No, Codsworth. Some people came in and…and killed them. While we were frozen, we were in cryo pods. Vault Tec…they froze us.”

            “But why would they do that, sir? The fellow in the yellow trench coat seemed fine. Quite dandy, if I do say so myself. Oh! I know! Let’s all go to the park. It’ll be so fun; you can Nate can take part in some faux boxing! I know he loved watching the fights. A true gentlemanly sport! And young Shaun can watch the birds! Oh, he does love them. Where is he, by the way? Where are they?”

            “Shaun was kidnapped. But I’ll get him back. Did you see anyone leave the vault, before I did, Codsworth?”

            “Oh, jeez. It’s worse than I thought. I’m not really programmed for this! Oh!”

            “Codsworth? Hey, man, stay with me. Are you okay? Did the radiation get to you?”

            “Hah! You really think some nuclear fallout could ruin the pride of General Atomics? Hah!”

            “Codsworth!”

            “Oh! I…oh, goodness, Mister Griffin! It’s true isn’t it? They’re…gone?”

            “Yeah.”

            “It’s been…200 _years,_ how _could_ they be alive? Oh it’s been so _lonely!_ I tried waiting, I tried just waiting and tending to the chores like I’m supposed to, but it’s so _hard!_ Have you tried to garden in a nuclear wasteland?! It’s _impossible!_ The geraniums are black leaves! I hardly have enough water a day for a houseplant, let alone a whole yard!”

            “Whoa, Codsworth, I didn’t mean –”

            “And the rust! Oh, God, the _rust!_ How do you polish rust?! How do you clean radiation out of a home! It’s a trick question, Mister Griffin, a goddamn trick question! You can’t do _anything!_ ” It sniffled, the mechanics in its body seeming to droop for a moment. Of course the robot would have a goddamn mental break down. It was just Griffin’s luck.

            “…Codsworth, I –” Griffin started, but jumped back when the robot shook itself, eyes focusing on him and its flamethrower producing a small ember. It seemed to give him a quick once over before completely changing its tone and emotion.

            “Enough of that! I am glad you’re alive! Oh, by the way, I have something for you! I think mum was going to give it to you after dinner.” The robot reached inside a small compartment with its grabbing arm, coming back out with a holotape. Written in Nate’s scrawl was “Veteran’s Hall speech”, and in Nora’s pretty penmanship was “For my dumb brother who’s a dumb hero”, with a heart drawn next to hero.

            Griffin’s mouth went dry as he slowly grabbed it from the robot. What a fucking rollercoaster this was. He stuffed it into the ammo bag, hearing the weak seams rip in protest.

            “Thank you, Codsworth.” Griffin said quietly. He’d listen to it later, for sure. It set him off balance for the rest of the day, however. The robot interviewed him about what it was like to be frozen, insisting that they search the neighborhood for them since being frozen didn’t mean you were dead. Griffin apologized that it was he who survived. Codsworth told him to stop being silly, and made a joke about them being brothers because of his fake leg. Griffin responded to that by beating a radiated roach pretty hard.

            He’d been called a robot before, sure, but he really earned it back in those days. Griffin didn’t see a future for himself if he acted like that again.

            Hell, did he see a future at all?

_If you’re busy, you won’t think about it._

It was late afternoon by the time Codsworth stopped and turned to Griffin with bobbing eyes and moving components, finally finished with their search.

            “They’re….they’re really gone.”

            “Yes, Codsworth.”

            “And you’re getting young Shaun back, because he’s been kidnapped by bad people.”

            “Yes, Codsworth.”

            “Well, that settles it! We have to stick together.”

            “Ye – what?”

            “We could go to Concord! The people there seem nice. They only hit me a few times, but that’s better than some of the unsavory folk that have come through here I tell you. We must leave at once!”

            “Codsworth, I can’t, I – my leg hasn’t been oiled in years, the frost melting kinda screwed me, bud.” Griffin told the robot, watching it pause for a moment before thrusting its eyes towards him.

            “I have oil! Here you are.” Codsworth deposited a little packet of oil. The packet said WATER in blue letters, but Codsworth handed it to him. The oil was most definitely old, but it would work. Grimacing, he took the packet and walked back to Nate and Nora’s old place, sitting on the steps.

            He’d been in every house with Codsworth, but hadn’t been inside this one. Griffin wasn’t sure he could do it, at least, not this soon. The robot hovered around him, clinking as it seemed to do a mini patrol. Say what you will about General Atomics, but he was certain the some of the robot’s circuits were a little more than slightly fried.

            Griffin removed Jackson’s knife from the boot, unzipping the bottom cuff and yanking the pant leg up. If he had half a mind, he’d just cut the darn cloth off, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to broadcast to the people ( _people! people!_ ) in Concord that he had a robotic leg. He extended his right leg out, feeling the nerves in his thigh zing in protest. A small, pained groan escaped his mouth and the robot was to him at an instant, offering help.

            Griffin eyed him for a moment. “Do you…do you have any way of cooking this can of beans?” He asked, gesturing to the small pile of goodies Griffin had brought back. The robot extended its grabbing arm out, the small pincer like grips grabbing the can up and giving it an experimental shake.

            “Certainly! Just a few minutes, Mister Griffin!” It hummed at him happily as it made its way past him into Nate and Nora’s house, banging a few things around. Griffin ignored the sounds of domesticity and continued working on his leg.

            The problem with his leg wasn’t that it was so creaky it couldn’t move. They had performed major surgery to give him semi functionality of the damn thing. This meant it was attached to nerves he hadn’t known existed and, when said nerves ran from the fake ones to the real ones in his thigh, he felt extra sore compared to the other one. They hadn’t really fixed that. Sighing miserably, he remembered making the appointment to have the nerves adjusted.

            _Good luck finding a doctor in post-apocalyptic suburbia._

Griffin dribbled some oil in the joints of his leg, watching it seep in with satisfaction. Making a decision, he tore off a little piece of the suit from behind his knee; it wasn’t something that many people saw, nor would it really be something that somebody would shoot at.

            Using that, he rubbed the oil in and used the excess to shine the metal plates. They called it a generation 1, because they had really big plans for generation 2 prosthetics. Something more human like. What Griffin had now was a crude design, plates and wires shaped like his leg, but the gears and screws protruded just enough to be visible through regular cloth.

            He did some bicycles with his leg, using the left one to brace himself. He stood up, sat back down, did a few pushups, and then finally walked around the cul-de-sac and back. The old leg gave him no issues, just a small squeak that seemed to happen every four or five steps. That was probably never going to go away, but he’d make due.

            Griffin patted at the ammo bag, fishing for the pack of cigarettes he found, packing it before peeling the wrapping off. He pulled one out, flipped it, put it back, and grabbed another one. Griffin wasn’t a superstitious man, really, but he liked the idea of having a lucky cigarette. The lighter worked like a charm, and he puffed on the cigarette, the quiet singeing breaking the uncanny silence in the neighborhood. The lights were out, but across the street was an oil lamp long forgotten and an old power armor hanger. Maybe he’d stay there.

            “Mister Griffin, I have chili for you! I hope you don’t mind re using your fork? We’re a little…empty.” Codsworth muttered, handing him the steaming bowl and a utensil. Griffin thanked it and motioned it to set it down on the steps for him. The robot informed him that it would continue patrolling the neighborhood, and would prepare him some breakfast in the morning.

            As it hovered away, the saw and flamethrower at the ready, Griffin relaxed against the mailbox, watching it bob in between houses and check bushes. It probably hadn’t really had a purpose all these years. He wondered if anyone saw the Mister Handy and tried to help it, or kill it, and had half a mind asking it about any memories it might have.

            Griffin decided against it. Call it robot sympathy, but he figured it be poor taste to ask it to spill. With a final drag of the cigarette, he flicked the cherry out and stubbed the ember, meandering over to his chili. His stomach gave a curious rumble as the smell of meat and beans wafted towards him. Picking it up, he dug in, going over the events of the day.

            This was what he had to look forward to. Maybe it’s a dream? Maybe he died in cryo, and this is his body pretending he lived. Or maybe he’s part of the sick whatever-the-hell that they might be subjecting his nephew to. While it didn’t seem likely, it still sent a shiver up his spine.

            Griffin finished his meal with a content sigh, putting the empty bowl on top of the tool box across the street. A couch had a make shift straw pillow on it, and the chair was oddly familiar. With a hum, Griffin pulled the cushion out and gave a little ‘ah ha!’ at the zipper found. Unzipping it, he found the hide-a-blanket untouched and slightly stiff, but good enough for the night.

            As he curled up on the couch, his boots and knife still firmly in place, he zoned out to the sounds of the wasteland, whispering about adventure and promising him new beginnings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what can i say, griffin isn't too happy about robots being a thing. also, codsworth is just fuckin weird, amiright? stay tuned for next time!


	4. And This World Has Moved On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, they're off! Griffin and Codsworth make their way to Concord, making a pit stop or two along the way. They bond a little over the old world. Griffin plays dress up and makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I'll use song titles as chapter titles, and sometimes I just take a few words from the end and throw them up there. This one is inspired by Anthrax's "Breathing Lightning." If I had to give Griffin a theme song, this one might be it. It plays with the idea of doing the right thing, and I like to think Griffin struggles heavily with what's lawfully right and what he thinks is the right thing to do. Give it a listen; it's fairly chill for a metal song. :-)

            When Griffin first opened his eyes, it was still dark and his entire body was frozen, again. The cold surprised him and he felt himself getting worked up and beginning to panic before his surroundings came into focus. It was just fucking cold outside. He was in a house with no doors, no windows, hell, _no walls;_ he wasn’t sure why he though the hide-a-blanket would take care of all the warmth he needed.

            “F-fu…” Griffin chittered, realizing he had to move his body lest he damage anything. He couldn’t have his leg being covered in the morning’s first dew. Thinking quickly, he practically vibrated off the couch, rubbing his hands together as he searched for something warm.

            An old bed frame was destroyed in one of the rooms, and he found that the bathroom was a little more insulated than the living room. Griffin tried to pull the couch down the hall, growing irritable and just taking the cushions, his blanket trailing behind. He was beyond caring about the leaves and dirt getting caught. Just wash it later. Warmth, _now._

            After depositing the cushions onto the ground, he looked at his wrist, the little computer displaying that it was 2 A.M. and that it was 39 degrees outside. His arm felt surprisingly okay, considering he fell asleep with it on. His brain felt foggy and he figured Codsworth would make enough noise to wake him up if something attacked.

            Griffin wobbled outside, teeth chattering as he grabbed a few rocks. He could start a small fire for now, before he decided to tinker with anything electric. As he moved rocks inside and in a little circle, Codsworth came over to watch him, one of its eyes following his movements as the others continued to survey. It didn’t say anything for a bit.

            When Griffin started kicking at the broken bedframe, however, it spoke up.

            “Mister Griffin? Are you alright?”

            “M’cold.”

            “Oh. You probably want to make a fire, then.”

            “Mm.”

            “I can cut some pieces of wood for you.”

            At this, Griffin paused mid kick and with narrowed eyes, glared at the robot until it bobbed over to the bed, its saw making quick work of the old wood. As the pieces were made, he piled them up in the circle of rocks, using his minimal fire training to determine what was the best way to burn, and safest.

            The robot finished cutting the entire bed frame up, setting the small planks nicely against the wall to the bathroom. Griffin pulled out his lighter and flicked it open, the flame fizzling out relatively quickly. The tips of his fingers began to tingle as he tried to relight it, but he couldn’t make the appendages move fast enough to spark it.

            Codsworth made the sound of clearing a throat.

            “I can light the fire for you, too, Mister Griffin.”

            Griffin grunted again, gesturing his hand in a way he hoped conveyed ‘please, light the fire and make it warm, good sir, before I die of cold.’ The robot obliged, humming as it hosed the wood in a small ball of flame. It roared for a moment before dying down into something manageable. The smoke filtered through the holey ceiling and down the hall, the fire warming the small room quickly.

            With a content sigh, he slipped the Pip Boy off of his wrist and put it in the corner, away from plain sight. Codsworth mentioned it would patrol the house frequently to make sure Griffin didn’t burn alive. He responded with another grunt as his body warmed and sleep took him again.

            This time, the crackling of the fire echoed against the hollow walls and reminded Griffin of camping as a child. His dreams were pleasant that night.

\---

            The second time Griffin woke up, the sun was rising and the fire was a smoldering pit of ash. Codsworth must have fed it more wood through the night, since he still felt cozy. He sat up on the cushions, his blanket falling away as he gave a great big yawn and stretched, humming at the cracks and pops his body made.

            The robot bobbed in, another bowl and a fork.

            “Good morning, Mister Griffin! I’ve prepared you another can of food for breakfast this morning. You’ll need your protein if we’re going to make it to Concord!” It laughed as it set the bowl down by him. Griffin thanked it, darkly thinking he’d be living on beans and chili his entire life. 

            “So, tell me about the people you met.” Griffin said, eyeing the robot. It considered his question for a moment.

            “Well, they didn’t seem evil. Or bad. If I had to guess, they were just scared. No matter; I won’t go on a vengeful rampage or something if I see them, Mister Griffin. General Atomics didn’t build no evil robot, huzzah!” Griffin gave it a half smile, picturing the jolly butler trying to navigate the world. He imagined it trying to talk to other appliances and animals, saying things only the miffed British could.

            “Sounds good, bud. Are there any pit stops along the way? I could really use some protection.” He gestured to the dirty blue vault suit and the boots, the only thing survivable about his ensemble. The robot whirred as it began tending the fire, putting it out for the day.

            “There is a Red Rocket mechanic shop along the way. Perhaps you could fashion something there?” It suggested.

            “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that place. I’m sure they’ll have something.” Griffin agreed, eating the rest of his meal. He pulled out a can of purified water from his little stash, drinking it as he stood up. The sunlight outside was soft and pink, telling him it was probably between 6 am and 7 am. Checking the Pip Boy, it read 6:45 AM.  So long as the seasons hadn’t done some serious shifting, nor the planet itself, they would have at least 13 hours or so of daylight.

            If all of the neighborhoods looked like Sanctuary, then he could probably set up camp pretty easily. The fact that furniture was intact after this long gave him hope for Red Rocket, too. Griffin imagined he’d find something a little thicker than the vault suit there, and hopefully some welding gloves, too. Those puppies were thick as hell and would make good arm guards.

            Say what you will about theoretical zombie apocalypse planning, but most of it was transferrable to the nuclear apocalypse, too.

            As he packed his knife and 10mm away and latched the small computer back on his wrist, he chatted with Codsworth, going over escape routes with the robot and explaining his style of fighting. Even though he was a heavy gunner in the Army, his preferred choice of combat was guerilla warfare and long distance sniping. It could dismantle entire forces, and had done so in the past. Now, though, since all he had was a pistol and a knife, it would be all about flanking. Codsworth seemed to agree, logging away Griffin’s commands inside its compartment with a ‘roger that’ and ‘ten four.’

            “Alright, got it! Mister Griffin, I should also warn you about the mole rats. I saw a few patrolling the Red Rocket when I first ventured out. They are...quite large.”

            “Yeah? We talking large cat size?”

            “Perhaps German Shepherd size.”

            “Oh. Well, good for them. They still blind as a bat? Burrow underground?”

            “Yes, Mister Griffin.”

            Griffin couldn’t tell if that was a relief or even scarier. He settled on just nodding, patting himself down one more time. The main goal was to make it to the Red Rocket at least. He needed something more substantial than the vault suit before he even thought about exploring the world. Maybe a tool belt, too. Griffin wasn’t sure he’d been as excited about a gas station in the past.

            The two crossed the bridge, making note of the destroyed part, the wood curling around where it was splintered. Griffin ran plans of either fixing it or putting a barrier around it by Codsworth, enjoying the calculations the robot spit back at him. Once they crossed, they came across the bones of what looked like a dog and a man, dried blood staining the concrete side walk.

            “I’m not sure who won.” Griffin noted to Codsworth, eyeing the tire iron wedged between the skeleton dog’s ribs. There was a big coat bundled off in the bushes, a bunch of belts poking through. He told Codsworth to remind him to stop by there if they didn’t find anything great at Red Rocket. Begrudgingly, it obliged.

            The giant metal rocket came into view quick enough, the red paint paled and peeling all over the building. As soon as they rounded the rock formation, the garage showed itself. Griffin signaled Codsworth to be on its guard, pulling his own weapons out. With his gun and knife poised and at the ready, they began their descent down the little hill.

            The gas pumps were torn apart, scraps of metal scattered around them, and the hoses were long gone. An old car sat on the work station, the seats ripped of their covers and the steering wheel missing. Griffin cleared it, no nasty surprises jumping out to meet him as he toed the tires, surprised they weren’t flat.

            A whining noise caught his attention, and Griffin whipped around, ready to kill, only to catch sight of perky ears and a wary tail wag.

            “Oh my god. It’s a _dog.”_ Griffin muttered to his robot companion. Codsworth made a noise of agreement as they walked towards the building, a small dog house and bowl coming into view. The whining grew more insistent and the dog pawed at the ground. As they grew closer, the dog showed itself to be a young German Shepherd, big brown eyes watching Griffin and Codsworth before they came to a stop a few feet from it.

            A chain was attached to the collar, but it was long enough for the dog to reach the road if it wanted to. An old bed was in the corner of the garage with a chewed up teddy bear posed on top of it. The chain looked attached to an old gun rack, gunsmith tools splayed around the surrounding area.

            “Hey, Codsworth. You said the mole rats were the size of German Shepherds.”

            “I did, sir.”

            “They don’t… _look_ like them too, do they?”

            “What? Oh good heavens, no. This is a dog.”

            Said dog watched them both talk about it, its tail wagging a little lazily. Griffin decided that dogs were God’s gift to man a long time ago, so he holstered his weapons and coo’d at it, watching the fluffy tail pick up and its ears relax.

            “Who’s a good dog?”

            _“Woof!” I am,_ it seemed to convey. Codsworth informed him that the dog was a male and was probably a year and a half old. Griffin informed the robot that he was adopting the dog as his own. The collar had no name, and none of his belongings said anything on them. Griffin took the chance of taking the collar off since he looked nice enough. The dog was happy with the decision and licked his hand in gratitude, taking off towards the old car.

            “Oh, _no!_ Dog!” Griffin cried, saddened that it decided to run off.

            “Mister Griffin, he’s coming back.” Codsworth comforted him, watching the dog rummage in the old car and make a u-turn. It trotted back, a lunch box in its jaws.

            “Holy shit. What’d you find, boy?”

            The dog’s tail wagged furiously as he dropped the lunch box at Griffin’s feet. Griffin crouched and opened it, chuckling at the mini bottle of water and dried pack of apples. Vault Tec was displayed proudly on it, but it was obviously a child’s lunch box. He rewarded the dog with a pat on the nose and used the water bottle to fill his dish. As the dog lapped at his water, Griffin stood and surveyed the garage some more.

            Toward the lobby of the building was another hallway, and in the hallway was an office. Codsworth started patrolling the station, advising Griffin that it would be on standby and await the next move. The dog trotted alongside it, tongue lolling and water dripping from its jaws as it tried to play tag.

            Griffin hummed to himself as he started rummaging through the office, opening a cabinet drawer that held random car parts and a pack of old gum. The bottom drawer was longer and bigger, but locked. Grimacing, he searched the garage for a crow bar, finding one nearly instantly. Jimmying it open proved easy enough, and he was rewarded with several jumpsuits in varying colors.

            “Score!”

            Griffin pulled them out, snorting at the pale blue and red collared one, the Red Rocket emblem stitched in haphazardly. On the left was the name MICKEY. Sending a thanks to Mickey, wherever they might be, he pulled out the rest, finding a dark green one, a brown one, and a gray one. A light tan one was also there, but there was a big hole in the chest. If it came down to it, he could use them as pants. The well loved one, however, had the same blue and red coloring, except the sleeves were torn off and the buttons were broken on the front.

            “Oh, Mickey, you _dog.”_ Griffin snorted to himself. Griffin shoved all but the dark green one back in, calling to Codsworth to remind him about this place on their way back, too. It gave him an affirmative, continuing its patrol. The dog had decided to lay down on his bed, watching Griffin with curious eyes. Turning away, he stripped out of the vault suit and into the mechanic’s suit, already liking the thick padding on his knees and back end.

            It fit him well everywhere but the chest, sagging a little when he sat down or was hunched over something. Griffin ignored it in favor of the fact that he now had six other articles of clothing. There weren’t any welding gloves, but he found a pair of motorcycle ones, along with some sun glasses.

            “Oh _hell_ yes.”

            The gloves fit, well, like a glove, and proved easy enough to maneuver in. Outside was a forge for metal plates, and he found a shin guard, a knee brace, and a weird chest piece that looked modified from a welding apron. He strapped the brace to his left knee and the guard to his right leg, thinking about his normal stance for shooting things. The chest piece slipped on easy enough, straps for tightening at his side. A few pouches stored his ammunition, but he kept his ammo bag around his waist. Strips of t shirts and rags were piled up in the corner, and Griffin tied a few together to wrap around his forearms. The Pip Boy displayed 8:13, the display going back to sleep once he finished wrapping the fabric around it. 

            Satisfied that he was geared up as best as he could be, he rounded up his robot and the dog, scratching his neck and tying one of the t shirt scraps around it. It was a make shift bandana, except it was a bleached blue color. As he tied it, the dog seemed to enjoy it. 

            “We’ll get you a proper outfit soon, buddy.” The dog seemed to register what he said and ‘oomphed’ at him.

            “Shall we continue, Mister Griffin?” Codsworth asked, its eyes focusing on his garb. Griffin nodded, taking the sunglasses and pushing them onto his face.

            “Yes. Tonight; we ride!” Griffin laughed as Codsworth just swiveled around without a word, directing them towards Concord. The three of them made their way down the hill, the buildings of the town poking through the morning haze. The dog panted and danced around him, leading them into a house where he practically begged him to pick up some bottle caps. Not wanting to disappoint his new friend, he pocketed them, asking Codsworth if it had any insight.

            “Perhaps he likes the noise they make, sir.”

            He also found an unopened bottle of Nuka Cola and a few more cans of food. Codsworth opened up a small compartment for the pork n beans and the lone can of Cram. There was just enough room for the Nuka Cola. It’d be a treat, depending on how this day went.

            “I can also make you a quart of purified water a day, sir. I have a compartment that collects condensation. However, I can’t hold much more.” It informed him, sliding the compartment closed.

            “It’s okay, Codsworth. We’ll armor you up and give you some saddle bags.” This seemed to please the robot, as it gave a happy twirl before they left the lone house.

            The dog led them down the street, ears perked forward as he rounded a corner. Forgotten parade flags danced in the breeze, and with that, a popping noise all too familiar hit his ears. _Gun shots?_

            Griffin drew his weapons, crouching as he moved his way through the houses, smelling the gun powder and carnage in the air. Codsworth scanned as the dog moved a few paces ahead of them, sniffing and grumbling. It grew louder, and he heard shouts. The road opened up past the sewers and an old car proved great for hiding behind; Griffin leaned against it, the dog hugging the corner and Codsworth hovering lowly.

            Peeking up, he saw people ( _people!_ ) hiding behind cars like him, dressed in gas masks and harnesses, dirty and fighting in an unorganized fashion.

            _“Die, bitch!”_ One yelled, shooting at the museum at the end of the road. A man stood by the door before jolting suddenly and falling, blood spraying the wall and his rifle falling from his hands.

            “Oh, shit. Fuck, they’re fighting each other. Codsworth, you wouldn’t happen to know who we should shoot at?”

            “The unsavory bastards shooting at the museum, sir. _They_ weren’t the ones throwing things at me, but I’ve seen them before. They’re ruthless! Evil! We should take them out!” Codsworth said to him, its saw and flamethrower ready for action. With a shrug, Griffin moved to the side of the car, listening.

            “I’ll have to take your word for it then, bud. We can try talking to them though, yeah? See if they’re just scared of robots? Maybe they have hearts of gold,” Griffin suggested. The dog whined at him and Codsworth sighed, its eyes watching the people shooting.

            “If they shoot at you, sir, I will show no mercy.” It promised, giving its saw a whirl. The dog growled as if to affirm Codsworth’s oath. Nodding a quick thanks, Griffin kept his weapons hidden behind the vehicle before popping up.

            “Hey guys! What are you – _ah!”_ He yelped, popping back down. His sunglasses drooped slightly. They had seen him and instantly started firing, yelling about more ‘hick pieces of shit,' and calling him a wannabe pilot.

            “Yup! Bad guys! Shoot ‘em, we’ll pick sides later!” Griffin shouted to Codsworth as the robot popped up from hiding, going for the closest one with a battle cry. The dog snarled and ran with the robot butler, leaving Griffin to brace against the car, adjust, and begin firing.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FADE TO BLACK, KILL EM ALL, RAH RAH RAH. fact about me; i harass my dog and cat when i have writers block. save a cade and a doggo; harass me to write more if you want it! Next up; the Minutemen gang! I think these three make a nice rag tag team of heroes. I also just really love dogs???


	5. Angels With Dirty Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin fights his way through the Museum of Freedom, thinks about the first batch of people he's met since exiting the vault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL LIKE ACTION SCENES? I hope you do! Sorta bloody. I decided to end it at the particular moment, so if you're not too keen on violence, you can just skip this entire chapter and go to the next one.

Griffin kneeled with his left knee on the ground, aiming his 10mm at one particularly angry man, black charcoal smudged across his eyes and down his chin, creating a crude outline of a skull. His teeth were rotted out, that much he could see, and he had bandages wrapped around his chest, a parachute’s harness keeping baggy pants up. The gun he waved wildly at Griffin wasn’t anything he’d ever seen before, and the man didn’t even seem all _there._

            It was a mercy killing, really. However, as soon as he pulled the trigger and watched the bullet hit the man in between his eyes, an unimaginable rage unfurled in his gut. The world had fucking _ended_ two hundred _years_ ago. Yet, here they were; still killing each other. The human nature couldn’t grasp that now was the time to band together. People were still evil; low resources and even less populace weren’t enough to show some fucking decency.

            Griffin thought he was alone less than forty-eight hours ago, and the idea that he wasn’t was quickly replaced with the idea that he might be one of the only good guys left. Sure, he’d barely even seen this place, but what made the people they were shooting at any different than them? Why should Griffin take them out? Was it even his place? Did he have any _right?_

            “Mister Griffin! Get out of the way!” Codsworth practically shrieked, its jets propelling him across the battlefield and into another enemy, her dark skin masking the blood that was shed. It tore into her with ease, the dog gnawing at her leg.

            “Jesus _Christ.”_ Griffin muttered, eyes wide as he rolled to the next barricade, leaping over it and moving up. They kept yelling profanities, and the unmistakable smell of laser rounds tinged his nose. Breathing deeply, he forced his mind to stay in the now, to not go back there, to not have a goddamn panic attack _._ Peering around the corner nearly got his nose clipped and he ducked, moving to the other side of the car before firing three rounds to the shooter’s chest. They screeched, the gas mask over their head falling away to reveal a scarred face. Griffin took the shot, putting them out of their misery.

            Codsworth yelled another battle cry, the dog bounding behind it. Griffin took their running forward as his queue and moved up to the next car, diving behind it and rolling up gracefully. His muscle memory was kicking in helpfully, leading his movements as he took out the people one by one, noticing the same charcoal smudges on all of their faces.

            As he got to the street light, he saw that one of them had knocked Codsworth into the corner store, causing it to get stuck. Codsworth flailed, trying to free itself, and a girl started swinging her gun at the dog, shrieking and distracted. Griffin took the chance to run up behind her and sink his knife into her back, forcing her down before removing it and going for her neck. A guttural scream left her throat before Griffin silenced her with a quick slice across the jugular. He released the lifeless body, watching it crumple to the ground after a beat.

            “Hey you! Quick, grab that laser musket! I’ve got settlers inside and the raiders are almost to the door!” A voice called out to him from above. Griffin raised his gun and fired on instinct. “Whoa, man, what the _hell?_ We’re the _good_ guys!” The voice yelled, the pitch cracking like it was honestly surprised someone would shoot at them.

            “Why should I trust you?” Griffin yelled back, gun aimed at the man’s head that popped over the railing. The guy was perched warily on the overhanging balcony from the museum’s second floor. He had a tan duster and a cowboy hat, giving off a very frontier vibe. The man answered him with a gesture at the now dead bodies on the road, brows raised high.

            “What do you mean, _why?_ They were shooting at us! They’re trying to _kill_ us, trying to kill the settlers I’ve got in here!”

            “What, should I know the difference between a settler and _these_ guys?” Griffin spat.

            “Are you out of your damn _mind?_ Look at them!”

            “Is tribal punk _not_ the general look of the wasteland? I must have missed the memo that cowboy hats meant _good guys!”_ Griffin howled as he lowered his gun, reloading his pistol with expert hands before holstering it and grabbing the strange musket from the ground. He recognized the guy at the steps with a grimace as the one he saw when he first arrived.

            “What does that even _mean?_ Please, just help us! I’ll tell you whatever you want! _Please!”_ He yelled before retreating inside, apparently confident that Griffin was going to enter the museum. Griffin in turn grumbled underneath his breath about ‘fuckin’ cowboys’, loading the cartridges into the musket and giving it a quick look to figure out how it worked. An experimental crank of the lever showed the chamber fill with red energy, and another crank made it stronger, almost vibrating with compressed power. The worn leather strap allowed him to swing it over his back, securing itself snugly.

            “If they’re not wearing bonnets and goddamn flannels when I get up there, I am going to be so _mad.”_ Griffin vowed, Codsworth clinking up behind him finally. The dog seemed to scoff, pawing at the entrance with a whine.

            “Sir, these were the ones throwing things at me. I think they’re the good guys.” Codsworth reassured him as it tested out its weapons quickly, apparently making sure they still worked. Griffin nodded at it before pulling the doors open. The dog charged in with no hesitation, Codsworth opting to take his six as he took a step through the door. As soon as he entered, the sounds of gun fire resonated through the old building, shaking the frail walls and making his ears ring.

            A guy made a quick shot and the bullet grazed Griffin’s arm, causing him to cry a profanity before raising his gun and firing two quick shots to his head. Thinking quickly, he ran to the right, yelling in surprise as he ran right into another one. Without much thought, Griffin pulled his knife and swung it, stabbing him in the neck. He pulled it out with a grunt, moving forward and ignoring the warm spray of blood on his forearm.

            Codsworth pushed ahead of him, its weapons buzzing furiously. The dog snapped at the mannequins before moving with them, his body low. Griffin followed briskly, clearing the room, nearly peeing himself when the automated voice came from above, telling him to join or die.

            “You lobster backed knaves!” Griffin shrieked, mocking the animatronics and taking out another one of the raiders. _Raiders. What does that even mean? Who’s raiding who?_ The dog snarled and ran to the next room, grabbing a woman by her arm and practically dragging her to him. With a quick breath, Griffin dealt with her before crouching behind a wall, checking his clip.

            _Still good._

_Move forward._

The next room held a couple more of them, and with greater ease, Griffin and his companions took them out, too.

            _Have your tea back, you jackanapes!_

“Jackanapes! Oh my God!” Griffin squealed, the hysteria from the fight getting to him and making him laugh obnoxiously. As they came to the steps, another one of them yelled a cry of “fuck you!” and shot at him, a bullet ricocheting off of his shin plate. Griffin grunted, the impact vibrating his entire right side. The shin plate itself had twisted to the side, exposing his leg. She took another shot and Griffin felt the bullet lodge itself into the inner workings of the prosthetic. It missed the nerve endings, but as soon as he was hit, his foot stopped moving when he wanted it to and remained in a 90-degree angle. Without power, it couldn’t read his movements. _Son of a bitch._

            Cursing, he crouched and took aim, but not before she screamed something to her comrades:

            _“Synth! He’s a fucking synth!”_

            A what?

            “What the hell is a synth?!” Griffin yelled back, unsure why he even bothered asking as her body fell. He turned to Codsworth with a raised brow, to which the robot seemed to ignore him in favor of continuing its trail of carnage. Griffin looked down at the dog, who was sniffing and perking his ears at the coppery smell and whistling the broken wires in his leg must be making at trying to power back on. He remembered accidentally snagging a wire in his sweat pants, remembering the excruciating pain and instant immobilization that followed soon after. The doctors had told him that as long as he didn’t mess with the green wires again, he shouldn’t worry about anything major. Red and blue were easy to fix; he’d experimented with it in his past time, tugging at them and getting a sick satisfaction at seeing his leg offline and reboot once he fixed them.

            Griffin would tug at the green ones, too, but that was a darker time.

            Shaking his head, he adjusted the shin plate and attempted to climb the stairs with a glorified mannequin leg hobbling him. Oh, he was going to give that goddamn cowboy a piece of his mind as soon as he found where they were at.

            Once he reached the top, he heard voices filtering in from a separate hallway, old memories of the museum reminding him of this exhibit. It was the one that went into science, the wallpaper some epic transition from dinosaurs to astronauts. Two of the raiders were complaining about the job, saying that this wasn't worth just a few weak settlers. That they should leave.

            Regardless of which side he was going to end up on, Griffin decided it’d be doing everyone a favor to rid it of cowards. He lowered himself onto the ground, the old army tricks populating in his mind. Motioning for Codsworth to hold its position, the dog and him moved silently across the old floorboards. Griffin pulled his knife out slowly, Jackson’s name covered in dried blood. Listening, he heard the voices change directions, listened to their foot falls. Once they were both turned away, he shot up, flinging his knife at the head of one of them and pulling his 10mm out of its holster to nab the other one.

            They never saw it coming.

            The raider he’d thrown the knife at twitched at the foot of the mural, the painted astronaut looking like it’d planted the American flag right into his head. Chuckling darkly, Griffin made his way to the body and snagged the knife, nearly tripping over a duffle bag. Deciding it was now or never, he crouched and unzipped it, rifling through the contents.

            “Inhalers…ah, some bullets…no good for the ten, lookin’ like .38’s…Codsworth, can you hold onto these bullets?” The robot slid open its compartment without a word, allowing him to slide them in. “Thanks, bud. Oh, hey, some…uh…well, hell. What is this? It’s like a...giant syringe?” Griffin muttered, holding it out for Codsworth to take. He’d look into it later. Now, they had some settlers to save. Or, whatever. Griffin was still going to have a word with the cowboy.

            Rounding the corner were some more stairs (of course), and after that, it opened up into the break area. An old Nuka Cola machine blinked at him, the lights barely working and the fridge empty.

            “…comin’ in there, and I’ll skin every last one of ya!” A gruff voice shouted. Griffin ducked, motioning for his companions to file next to the wall with the machine. Another guy told him they weren’t worth it, again; the original man vowed to come back. Sliding low onto the wall, Griffin held up a hand to the robot, listening for where the raiders were coming from. Two sets of steps opened the door that led to the inner hallway, and once they were half way to them, Griffin signaled to his robot to charge.

            _“Hiyaaaaah!”_ Codsworth shrieked, shooting forward and cutting the stomach of one open while the dog grabbed the radier's arm, leaving the bewildered one to try and catch up. Griffin beat him to it, taking him out with a clean shot. As the bodies fell into defeated heaps, he thought absentmindedly about searching the bodies later; if they were truly raiders, they’d probably have some good shit.

            Leaving his hiding spot behind the Nuka Cola machine, he gimped out the door, gun raised warily.

            “In here!” The voice called out, matching that of the cowboy from outside. Griffin took a right and made his way down the hallway, a stocky man in overalls messing with a computer terminal giving him a glance and a nod before returning to his work. Narrowing his eyes, Griffin tried to correct his limp as best as he could, the dog running straight past him and into the room with no qualms. Codsworth kept its position behind him, though, loyal as ever.

            When Griffin entered the room, the cowboy that he’d been cursing this entire time gave him a small smile, his own rifle lowered, as he sauntered over to where Griffin now stood.

            “Man, I don’t know _who_ you are, but your timing is impeccable. Preston Garvey, with the Commonwealth Minutemen.” He introduced himself with a tinge of bitter pride. Griffin felt his eye twitch at the guy’s almost near relaxation at seeing him, though.

            “Uh. Griffin. I’m new here.” Preston Garvey gave him a chuckle and a shrug before clearing his through. He looked ready to prepare himself for a speech. Griffin assessed the room quickly, looking at the other people and nearly breaking out into laughter, or, most likely, tears.  

            A woman in a flannel was pacing nervously up and down the other side of the room, grumbling. The dog was sitting at the feet of an elderly woman, who wore a blue, bonnet-like cap.

            “Holy shit. Bonnets and flannels, Codsworth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL YAY CLIFF HANGERS. GG IT'S THE DEATHCLAW NEXT, GANG. STAY TUNED! I had leftover chinese food while I wrong this and listened to Nancy Sinatra lol. Hoping to get the next one up by Tuesday! Also hoping for a regular schedule of Tuesdays. Who tf knows. Womp.


	6. Symphony of Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin sees a Deathclaw, and makes his final decision about Preston & Company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey HEY HE'S FIGHTING THE GIANT LIZAR. I rewrote it at least six times but now I'm bullying myself into posting because it's been so long and I'm actually sorta okay with this version.

_“Holy shit, Codsworth. Bonnets and flannels.”_

As Griffin marveled at the rag tag bunch of people he had met, the one who’d introduced himself earlier, Preston Garvey, gave him an unimpressed look.

            “Hey, man, are you alright?” He asked, taking a step back and gripping his own laser musket a little tighter. Griffin snapped out of his haze when the robot poked his arm, causing him to slightly shake himself before looking the man in the eye.

            “Yes, hi, sorry. It’s just…well, never mind. I’ll tell you later. Anyways, what’s the story here, Preston Garvey?” Griffin asked, leaning against the door frame. Codsworth was still putting around behind him, watching his back with its rotating eyes. 

            Preston gave him a weary look before gesturing to his people, going on about their beginnings in Quincy, how their numbers went from twenty to five. They really were just settlers, and Griffin felt himself relax internally at that realization. _At least they’re fighting for a reason._

He mentioned ghouls chasing them out of Lexington, but Griffin assumed he just meant the raiders. Different names for different villains. _Must be a gang name or something._

            “…but, maybe our luck’s finally turned around. We have a plan to get outta here.”

            “Oh?” Griffin inquired, moving further into the room to let the robot through. It floated in, introducing itself and began to hand out little packets of water. Griffin snorted at it before turning back to Preston.

            “Sturges? Tell him.”

            The man named Sturges stopped tinkering at the computer terminal, turning around and leaning against the desk before fixing him with a mischievous look. He went on about a crashed Vertibird on the roof, explaining that the passenger had left behind some pre-war power armor. Griffin chuckled to himself, remembering his own suit.

            “That’s some serious protection.”

            “Yeah, and you can use it to rip the mini gun from the Vertibird and mow down the damn raiders.” Sturges finished, proud of his idea. In a moment, though, he scrunched up his face before letting out a sigh. “As great as it sounds though, buddy, it’s out of juice. There’s an old fusion core down stairs in the basement, but the security’s too tight. I can’t hack it.”

            Griffin mulled it around in his head for a few moments before shrugging and looking to Preston. “I could give it a shot.”

            The look Preston gave him was a mix of gratitude and incredulousness. Griffin narrowed his eyes a moment before rolling them.

            “I used to have a suit of power armor, alright? I used to man handle mini guns, too. This is like, the easiest thing you could have asked me to do. Yeesh!” He backed out the room to Preston shaking his head and Sturges shrugging a little before returning back to his computer. Griffin was convinced he wasn’t even tinkering and just trying to find a game of solitaire to pass the time until their inevitable doom.

            Once he was out of sight of the hallway, Griffin relaxed his walk a little, letting his leg’s limp through. It’s not that it was painful; maybe a little sore. But, if he could just make it to the power armor and save these guys, well, he’d have a suit of power armor and could run off and make repairs before anyone saw him.

            So sure, there was some sort of ulterior motive involved.

            Soon, he reached the basement, seeing the old generator with the fusion core humming away. A security gate stood between him and the generator, and a terminal was jury rigged to the side, surprisingly fully functional. Griffin scoffed at it, muttering about nuclear power sustaining the wrong things before reaching into the ammo bag and pulling out a few bobby pins. He put some between his teeth as he kneeled down to screw with the traditional lock on the gate, furrowing his brow. The bobby pin squeaked in protest as he fiddled with the lock, using Jackson’s knife as torque. With a final jiggle, the lock popped open, and as soon as he tried to remove the pin and knife, the old rusty door groaned and leaned forward, attempting to crush Griffin.

            “Oh, for the love of…” Griffin grumbled, stepping out of the way as it fell to the ground, defeated after so many years, revealing the generator and its core. _There goes a perfectly good bobby pin._ He stepped over the old gate and reached for the fusion core, the warmth radiating and tickling his palm. It brought him back to the time in the barracks, gearing up and getting ready to head out into battle with his fellow man. Griffin pulled it out, a satisfying hiss coming from the generator as it finally tapped into the back up nuclear power hiding inside. The place would probably run for an extra hundred years, if not more. Griffin palmed the fusion core with care as he made his way back up to the top floor of the museum, coming in to seeing Preston apologizing to Codsworth for throwing things at it and the dog still curled up on the couch.

            The old lady next to the dog fixed him with a knowing look, her hazy eyes tracking his movements.

            “Got the core.” Griffin announced, schooling his walk as he showed off the prize. Sturges gave him a whoop and Preston smiled a little bigger as he gave him directions to the roof. The dog whined as he walked past, getting off the couch to try and follow him.

            “Now, now, Dogmeat, let the machine gunner do what he needs to do.” The old lady chuckled good naturedly, patting the couch next to her. The dog, now Dogmeat, harrumphed and climbed back up, ears pricked as he watched Griffin.

            “Dogmeat? What a name.” Griffin commented warily, unsure how to feel about her choice of nickname for him. The old lady smiled.

            “I knew he’d bring us help. Seems he’s takin’ a liking to you, kid.” Her smiled dropped, however, as she hunched forward and beckoned him a little closer. “Something’s comin’. I’ve seen it. Something’s comin’, and it’s… _angry_.”

            “Oh…kay. I’m listening?” He offered, gripping the fusion core tightly. She gave him a sad shake of her head.

            “That’s all I’ve got kid. As crazy as it sounds, the Sight isn’t always cooperative. Just…be careful! Would hate if something happened to Dogmeat’s new friend.” She scratched his ears, the dog seeming to sigh in agreement. _Yes, yes, would totally hate it._

            “Al…righty…then. Well, I’m just going to go and mow down some angry raiders and ghouls, or whatever.”

            _“Ghouls!? You’ve got to be shitting me!”_ The woman wearing the flannel shrieked suddenly, rounding on him. Griffin jumped, his leg catching and nearly giving out. No one caught it, though.

            “Marcy, no, there’s no ghouls, and if there were any ghouls, we’d kill them, okay?” Preston assured, giving Griffin a tight look. _Well, then, what the fuck were the Ghouls?_

            “Yeah, I used to man handle a machine gun all the time. Don’t worry about it.” Griffin said easily, hiding the sudden clench of fear. The radiation had changed the plants in sanctuary, what if it had changed the people, too?

            “Well…you better do something!” Marcy snipped, going back to her tireless pace. Griffin ignored it, heading outside to the roof, Codsworth clinking behind him. He opened the door to a twilight sky, the sunset glinting off of the crashed Vertibird and casting the suit of power armor in shadow.

            Oh, it was prewar, alright. Griffin’s breath caught as he marveled at what time had done to the machinery. The plates had rusted together, giving off the idea that it had stopped moving a while ago. The right arm was barely hanging on, straps frayed from the sun beating down on it relentlessly for so long. The helmet’s front face had a crack across the head lamp, and the left leg showed signs of being beaten with a hammer. A toolbox lay forgotten on an old desk in the corner, with a holotape next to it. Curious, Griffin picked it up and examined it. Codsworth putted around the rooftop, scanning for enemies, but kept quiet.

            He decided to pocket it and listen to it later. Besides, he had the one of Nate’s speech that was waiting for him, still. Pushing the thought of it away, he pulled the fusion core out and stuck it in the back of the power armor, listening to the familiar hum as everything came on line. He set the laser musket on the ground next to him and adjusted the ammo bag and armor. As he popped it open, the hiss of the hydraulics giving him chills, he could practically hear the boys in the barracks giving him shit for having such shiny power armor.

            _Griffin, man, shit’s shinier than the god damn Vertibirds we just got! You love that hunk of metal more than any woman who’s ever looked your way, I’ll bet!_

“Mister Griffin, are you alright?” Codsworth asked, bobbing over to him. It gave him a poke, shaking Griffin out of his haze. He gave the robot a poke back before entering the power armor fully, sighing internally as the suit closed around him like a protective cocoon. His mind wandered a moment, and he closed his eyes.

            _It was the first time he had ever put it on, and of course, he had somehow done it wrong. He had been drafted in 2067, right after the Chinese had invaded Anchorage. His instructor for using Power Armor had changed several times in the short month, either to death or to impromptu promotion. It was on week three that someone actually showed him how to do it, and it had been his friend, Robert. Robert and him had been great friends, but something happened and he had been stationed elsewhere._

“…sir? Are you _sure_ you’re alright?” Codsworth’s voice reached him and pulled him gently from the memory. Griffin gave himself another shake before looking down at the power armor, moving arms and legs experimentally. Everything was online, and the power armor’s head lamp blinked to life as he began to move, waking the old relic up. Griffin slung the laser musket over his shoulder, the leather strap stretching in protest as it rested over his back. He then gripped the mini gun and gave it one, two, three tugs and tore it from the Vertibird.

            Once he made it to the ledge, he put a leg up on the edge and readied the mini gun. The people, raiders, swarmed to them like old sewer rats. Preston had propped himself out on the ledge again, firing the laser musket with ease. Griffin reverted to a strange sense of purpose as he pulled the trigger and sprayed a few of the raiders, their yells carrying and echoing in the otherwise abandoned town as they were torn apart.

            _“Come down here and show me that fancy gun up close, huh?”_ One of them shouted. He was too far away for precise laser firing, so Preston’s shot kept curving, and the mini gun’s wide spread was nowhere near him. Glaring at the general direction, he ceased fire and turned to Preston.

            “Preston, I’m going down there.”

            “Alright, I’ll cover you.” Preston called to him, apparently expecting him to go inside and run down the stairs, and not just fucking fling himself off the top of building, landing with a thunderous rumble. A few of the buildings trembled and crumbled some more, and when Griffin stood back up, firing away, a few of the raiders told him to fuck off and ran away, saying he wasn’t worth it.

            It finished rather quickly after that. The man who had wanted to see it up close got exactly what he wanted, and a few of his buddies met the same fate soon after. Once he had the last one taken care of, or at least, the last one that dared to stay and try and fight, he walked back towards the museum, checking for stragglers.

            “Oh my _god!”_ Preston yelled as he got close. “You shouldn’t have done that, are you crazy?!”

            “This is power armor! The only thing you need to worry about is if you have to _really_ go to the bathroom!” Griffin yelled right back, sweeping the immediate area for any more raiders. Codsworth had propelled himself down as well, and was in the building across the street, poking at the bodies and rifling through containers. _Looking for supplies, probably. Nice._

            “You just shook the entirety of Concord, you…you…! You fool!” Preston shouted. Griffin turned, ready with a retort about war fare being the same regardless of the time period, and how the one with the most ground shaking is usually the winner, when he realized something.

            The ground, it was _still_ shaking. Eyes widening, he looked down the road, eyes falling on the civic access tunnel entrance. The doors rattled, and a low rumble evolved into a monstrous roar as the doors flew open, and the doors and a couple chunks of asphalt exploded outward. Preston howled to get back inside. Griffin was paralyzed; it had happened the first time he’d seen an enemy ambush, and was happening again, but when scaly arms and the head of the devil himself emerged from the hole, he spurred into action.

            And, the only action Griffin knew, was to squeeze the trigger and fire at will.

            The beast rose from the tunnel, howling in rage, throwing cars out of its way as it bobbed and weaved, trying to make its way to him. Codsworth yelled something at him, but he didn’t quite hear it. A car had flipped over and was blocking the entrance into the building he was currently in. Griffin dropped the mini gun after a moment, kneeling and grabbing the laser musket, pumping a few high powered laser rounds into the monster. Another laser joined him, and a few bullets were let loose, too. Turning quickly, Griffin saw Preston and Sturges, as well as Marcy, shooting at the monster and yelling profanities.

            The combined fire forced it back a little, and Griffin picked the mini gun back up before trudging toward it. The monster’s tail swung fiercely and broke through a building’s walls. It swiped at another forgotten car, throwing it over Griffin’s head and into the building behind him. Codsworth was shouting at the monster, unable to fit through the window, and not having any projectile weapons to really be much of help anyways.

            As Griffin pumped the beast with led, it looked at him and roared, making a beeline for him. Griffin held his ground, yelling right back. It got close and used its clawed hands to grab at his power armor, snatching him up and lifting him up into the air. The settlers and Preston shouted at him, telling him to fight and to flail, to get out of its grasp. Griffin chose to instead lodge the rotating barrel of his minigun in the monster’s gaping mouth, cutting a roar short. It’s forked tongue tried to force it out as he fired it up, squeezing the handle with every last bit of strength he had. The monster gave his entire body a panicked squeeze, crushing the back plating, before jolting and letting go in favor of trying to force the barrel out.

            The momentum forced it backwards and Griffin forwards, the beast landing on its back and Griffin, on its chest. The bullets punctured through its throat, its blood spraying the power armor and flooding the streets. Finally, the last bullet settled itself into its head somewhere, and the minigun sputtered to a stop. Griffin gave it a final shove into the thing’s throat, panting heavily. He fought with the power armor’s helmet to get it off, finally unlatching it when Codsworth came up behind him.  

           “Bravo, Mister Griffin! That was quite a display!” It celebrated for him with a happy wrr of its buzz saw. It had a fresh dent on its body, having apparently forced himself through the window of the old building. It gave the monster a few choice words before dousing it in a short burst of fire, as if to say ‘now _there,_ you’re _dead,_ I’m _alive’._

           “What…what _is_ this thing?” Griffin gestured to the dead beast, panting.

           “We call it a deathclaw. You, apparently, spit on their reputation.” Sturges’ voice carried, and Griffin turned to see him and the rest of the rag tag gang walking towards him.

           “Deathclaw? I mean, it’s fitting.” Griffin muttered, giving it a kick. Preston came up behind him and gave his shoulder a nudge.

           “Then hero is fitting for you, Griffin. I can’t even begin to thank you for what you’ve done here. Here, it’s not much, but we came together with what we could spare. Take it!” Preston handed him a small pouch, and when Griffin took it with a questioning glance, he heard the unmistakable noise of bottle caps. _What the hell is with bottlecaps?_

           “Uh. Thanks, Preston, but you, uh. You didn’t have to. Um.” Dogmeat came trotting up with the older woman, tongue lolling. Well, at least Dogmeat liked them.

           “Consider it a gift, then. Hey, we were just heading to a place called Sanctuary. Mama Murphy has had a few visions about it, and it sounds like safe harbor. Maybe, you’d like to come with us? Or even just escort us there? Everyone within half a mile knows what the death of a deathclaw sounds like, so they’ll stay away. But, some beasts don’t. And we could use the protection! And –”

           “I’m actually heading that way, too.” Griffin blurted, all ideas of bugging out gone. These people had stood with him in the heat of battle, even though they were a few stories up. They were the good guys, and that was all there was to it. “I live over there right now, too. There’s plenty of room.”

           Preston beamed and Sturges sighed longingly.

           “Plenty of room…plenty of beds…oh dear, it sounds like paradise.” And with that, they set off back towards Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayayaya! Next time; feelgood campfire-esque bonding! Hopefully much sooner!


	7. Cyborg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang returns to Sanctuary and settle down for the night. Griffin tells them his story, and awaits their judgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND TITLE FOR WORST AUTHOR UPDATE GOES TO ME HOLY GOD I'M SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG. ;-; Please, enjoy!

            The road back home was uneventful. Sturges and Preston stashed a few cuts of the deathclaw meat in their packs, telling him that if cooked just right, it’s basically like a radstag. When Griffin furrowed his brow, they saw it as a sign to take it upon themselves to tell him all about the wasteland. They chatted about this and that, filling Griffin in on what they knew of the world. Sturges made a comment on the Red Rocket station, causing Griffin to pipe in and mention the jump suits. Preston noted that good salvage could always be found in the Red Rocket stations. The power armor clunked and rattled, squeaking with every bent joint.

            Once they arrived at the bridge, Preston nearly tripped when he saw the old minuteman monument. Griffin huffed, amused. It seemed to brighten his spirits and he began telling all of them a little Minutemen history. Sturges looked to Griffin, eyes asking for an explanation. Griffin just shrugged, and Sturges scratched his head, turning back to Preston.

            “I got no idea what you’re talking about, boss, but I’m glad you’re happy.” Dogmeat woofed in agreement.

            They filed into the safe embrace of Sanctuary, just as the sun began to set behind the hills. Griffin showed them the house he’d been staying in, filling them in on the other houses around the neighborhood. Marcy shooed her husband and Mama Murphy towards the room Griffin had been occupying, soothing them in the only way an abrasive woman could. Preston and Sturges walked the smaller perimeter as Griffin and Codsworth gathered the old bed frame to bring outside on the house’s concrete driveway. Dogmeat trailed along behind Griffin, avoiding the footfalls of his power armor with ease, watching what he was doing with interest.

            “Sir, I just wanted to say that I’m glad you brought them here. They appear to be good people, and we can’t get enough of those these days.”

            “Yeah.” Griffin agreed easily as he brought up the cinderblocks to form a circle. He plugged the holes with rocks from the river bed before laying the slats inside. He had Codsworth use it’s buzzsaw to create small kindling pieces, taking them and arranging them until he was satisfied. Dogmeat seemed to get bored, so he sneezed and ran off towards the older house. Once it was ready to be lit, he called for the settlers, pulling the misshapen and mismatched lawn chairs around it. One by one, they plopped down, Marcy a little roughly, her husband, sadly, and Sturges, well. He lounged like a damn King, thank you very much.

            Codsworth did the honors of lighting it, the warmth reminding Griffin that he was still in his power armor. Still in the power armor that was hiding the fact that his leg was, well, less than human. Suddenly, his heart beat began to speed up and his mouth got a little dry. He’ll just fix it tomorrow, or later tonight once everyone’s asleep. No one has to know.

            “So, Griffin, you gonna stand there lookin’ all moody or are you gonna relax? You just killed a deathclaw all by yourself!” Sturges said over the fire. He stretched out his legs, making happy sounds as the fire warmed his tired limbs. Preston rounded the corner and gave them a tired look. “C’mon, boss, tell Griffin to relax and get out of that power armor!” Sturges chuckled.

            “Griffin’s his own man. Not everyone can instantly relax in safe harbor like you.” Preston teased. Sturges scoffed in response, looking at the fire with content.

            “Yeah, I think I’ll do a few more rounds around Sanctuary. Can never be too careful.” Griffin added, turning around and picking up the Laser Musket. It’s not like he was lying to get away; he needed to find something to patch his leg up with before the wires shorted and rendered his entire right side useless. _Maybe that old car has a piece I can tear off?_

“Nah, there’s nothing out there. Besides, we need to get cooking!” Sturges declared, sitting himself back up in his seat. He pulled the pack close to him, taking out a slab of the deathclaw meat and some boxed water to rinse it. He looked up at Griffin with a question in his eyes before Codsworth came sailing into view, old dishes and silverware in its claw.

            “Mister Griffin! Here are some utensils you might find useful for your dinner.” Griffin chuckled to himself as Codsworth placed everything as gently as it could on the ground next to Sturges, its eyes seeming to give Griffin a pleased look.

            “Thanks, Codsworth.”

            “Yeah, thanks bud! Where’d you find him, anyways? And how long have you been livin’ here before you decided to venture out? Probably wishin’ ya didn’t, huh?” Sturges asked good naturedly while he cut the slab of meat into easier pieces. Griffin sighed.

            “Codsworth was my late sister’s Mister Handy. And, well, I’d only been here for a day or so. Codsworth was the one who actually told me about you guys. Something about having things thrown at him?” Griffin teased. Sturges laughed in return while he set the metal platter of meat on top of the fire to cook.

            “Oh, that was Marcy. She’d been having one of her moods and the poor guy came up and tried to be friendly at the wrong time.” Marcy practically growled an apology, the fire giving her almond eyes an orange hue. It was comical, such a small woman filled with such rage. It was understandable, though.  

            “Come on, get out of the power armor already, oh Knight. I do believe you owe us a back story?” Sturges asked, motioning for Preston to sit as well. The Minuteman did as he was told, sighing. Griffin, however, pursed his lips, wracking his head for something to say. They’re all relaxing right now, anyways, so if something did go wrong, he’d be able to run off and hide. _But I saved their lives!_ And? What difference would it make if they found Griffin to be an enemy?

            “Well, uh. Sure.” Griffin moved out of the way and pressed the release button, the armor spluttering back to life as the back opened. The cool outside air caressed his back, making him involuntarily shiver. He stepped out, making sure to use his left leg first. The mechanics of his right leg had done exactly what he’d thought they would do and froze up on him, making him fall on his ass as he tried to exit gracefully.

            “Oh shit! You okay, Griffin?” Preston called while Griffin pulled himself up. He made a grunt that he hoped came across as ‘yeah, yeah’ and gimped over to the fire. Immediately, they both gave him alarmed looks. _Oh great, here we go._

“Whoa, did one of those raiders get lucky?” Preston asked sympathetically, pulling his own pack forward to rummage through. Griffin sat down warily, adjusting himself until he was comfortable. His own laser musket was behind the cinder block, and his pistol was already cocked and ready. When Preston pulled out some medical supplies, however, Griffin felt his mind come to a full halt.

            “Oh. Uh, well, thanks Garvey, but I –”

            “Oh, shut it, no one’s too much of a hero to accept basic first aid. I’ll tell all the ladies about how manly you were, don’t worry.” Preston huffed, reaching for his leg. Griffin winced before grabbing Preston’s wrist, quickly, and using his other arm to pull up the pant leg.

            “It’s – It’s a fake leg. I just need some screws and stuff.” Griffin let go of Preston’s wrist, the blood roaring in his ears as he waited for their judgement. This was it. Two hundred years in cryo sleep and within the first seventy-two hours, he was going to be put down with less dignity than those raiders he’d killed. At least they were fighting. Here, Griffin is just confused, angry, _afraid?_ He’d failed Shaun, he’d failed Nate, but most of all, he’d failed –

            “Oh! Well, all you had to do was say something! Sturges here tinkers and fiddles with mechanical stuff all the time. He probably has the first aid kid you’re looking for.” Preston laughed lightly as he put his first aid kit away. Marcy gave him a look like she could honestly care less, and Jun give him a small smile. Mama Murphy nodded sagely, and Sturges waved the fork he was using to turn over the deathclaw meat at Griffin, smirking.

            “It’ll have to wait until after dinner, though. I’m starving.”

            _Wait._

            “What? I…I thought –”

            “Hmm? Oh, hey, it’s no big. Honestly, you could be a synth for all we care. All that matters is that you helped us out when you could have easily just turned the other way.”  Preston assured, now taking an obvious interest in his leg. “So how does it work?” Warm eyes met Griffin’s obviously panicked ones, and Griffin couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh.

            “I honestly though…it doesn’t matter. Thank you, really.” Preston rolled his eyes and waved his hand in a way that probably meant don’t mention it. “Right. Yeah, so this was designated as a Generation 1 prosthetic appendage, and back in the day, there weren’t very many like it. Basically, they took surgical steel and connected these rods here to my femur, with the patella being like a mother board on a computer. The green wires are like tendons and ligaments, while the blue and red wires control the cooling of the machinery and power. My patella kind of looks like a jelly fish, honestly, with all these green wires connecting different movements and patterns to their respective places.

            “I told the doctor I didn’t really care if the toes could move, but when my leg had been blown off by a grenade, I had been the perfect candidate for their program. Sure, it pulled me out of hell and gun fire, but believe you me, I would have preferred that than be cooped up for days on end in the MIT building. Smelled like books and stuck up professors.” Griffin finished with a sigh. Sturges had been listening to his legs mechanics with genuine interest, but Preston had started giving him a strange look when he’d started talking about MIT.

            “Where did you say you were from again?”

            “Ah, figured you’d catch on to that. As crazy as it sounds, my sister, she used to live here. Before the war. I was right here when the bombs went off.” Griffin began. Preston whistled low, and Dogmeat decided to return to the realm of the Humans, a bundle of sticks in his mouth. He dropped them at Jun’s feet, giving the fire an incredulous look, as if to say _really? Those were perfectly fine fetching toys!_

            “Wow. Like one of those old pre-war ghouls. Actually, that’s not as crazy as you think it is. How did you survive, then?” Preston asked.

            “My sister had signed us all up for the program with Vault Tec. Our vault appeared to be the long-term experiment of what happened to the body when it was suspended in a cryogenic stasis over a long period of time.” Griffin said bitterly, watching the fire. Dogmeat snuffled and trotted over to his side, lying his head on Griffin’s lap, demanding a head rub.

            “Damn. I always knew those Vault Tec bastards were evil.” Sturges grumbled, declaring the steaks medium rare and passing them out on plates. Each of them took a plate and a random utensil, digging in. Preston took a quick bite before turning back to Griffin.

            “So, how long have you even been out for? A couple years or something?”

            “Roughly two days or so, actually.”

            “A man out of time, yet you’ve adapted so well already.” Mama Murphy said sagely as she watched the fire. Marcy groaned audibly, brows furrowing even more.

            “Here we go again. You gonna ‘see’ him a new leg?” She snapped. Sturges waved his fork at her this time.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you know Mama Murphy’s got the Sight. She saw this place, ‘member? She might be able to help our new cyborg friend here.” Marcy snorted but resumed the task of eating her dinner. Jun had been staring off into the night, chewing thoughtfully.

            “Ah, thanks, but I’m not even really sure what I’m doing. No one…no one made it out with me. My sister, she…she was shot when some psychos wandered into the vault and woke everyone up from cryo, just briefly. They took her baby, _my nephew._ I’m not even sure when it happened, or where Shaun is now, or where to even start. If you can take anything from that, well, be my guest and do what you have to do.” Griffin finished sadly, grimacing as he looked at the older woman. Dogmeat whimpered, burrowing closer to Griffin’s side.

            “Kid, if I could see you a path, I would. I can tell you where you should start, though. Diamond City, the great green jewel of the Commonwealth, they say. I can feel your family’s energy here. Your sadness, your happiness. Even the fear. Shaun’s out there, he’s just waiting for you to find him, kid.” Mama Murphy said, hazy blue eyes finally looking at Griffin, seeming to peer straight into his soul. Griffin nodded slowly, returning to his steak. They all fell into an uneasy silence, no one sure where to start next. Sturges finished his meal first, setting the plate down for Codsworth to pick up and turned to Griffin.

            “So, what say you I grab my tools and you can walk me through attaching your wires again, huh, cyborg?” Griffin laughed, the tension easing. Sturges pulled out some needle nose pliers and a screw driver, having Marcy search the old work bench for some copper wire.

            Eventually, everyone settled around them while Griffin held his arm up above, using the pip boy’s light to guide his movements. They chatted idly, Marcy warming up to the idea that this was home, and Preston began making plans for tasks the next day. When Sturge’s fixed the main wire, his ankle whirred back to life and scared the hell out of him. Jun was making a cover for the bullet hole, using an old baby formula can and some rusty hedge trimmers. Marcy came back with some nails, some more wires, and an old staple gun. Once his leg was back on line and the wires were connected and reinforced, Sturges opened the staple gun and poured out the staples, lining the cover up with the hole. He had Griffin hold it in place as he used the butt of the screw driver to carefully hammer in the staples.

            When it was all said in done, Griffin looked down at his leg, the clean steel clashing with the rusted face of a giggling baby.

            They laughed while Griffin paraded around the campfire, one leg of his suit hiked up to his knee, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. After a few more bites and conversations, they put out the fire and headed inside, dragging cushions and sleeping bags together in the living room. Codsworth helped them light a smaller fire inside, promising them he’d keep an eye on it while the slept.

            As they drifted into dreams, Griffin smiled, finally feeling at ease for the first time in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just like to imagine Griffin parading through the wasteland with the formula baby's face on his leg, like, super bad ass, with a Fat Man and everything and then you just see this little baby face. I LIVE for this. Let me know how you liked it! :D As always, harass me for more! Thanks to all who took an interest and read it! Next time - the great green jewel! (Hopefully. ',:) )


	8. Morning in America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frontier life and decision making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I messed up and played too far into my file as Griffin and then forgot what happened on the way to Diamond City lol good lord. Anyways! Yay, frontierville!

The second morning Griffin awoke in the wasteland, it was to Dogmeat’s upper body covering his front half, Sturges snoring softly across the now smoldering fire pit, and Preston whistling a light tune while he cooked something outside. Groaning, he sat up and rubbed the sleep grit from his eyes, Dogmeat grumbling as he rolled off. The dog practically threw a fit as he circled in the warm spot Griffin had just occupied and curled back up. Chuckling, he stood up and stretched, popping a few joints and giving his leg an experimental twist. It obliged happily, and Griffin sighed softly. The pip boy on his wrist blinked happily at him, the vault boy giving him a thumbs up and a ‘good morning, user!’.

            When he walked out to the driveway, the brightness made him squint. Holding a hand over his eyes, he walked over to where Preston had a pot of something meaty cooking over the fire. When he noticed Griffin, he gave him a sunny smile and a wave.

            “Morning! How’d you sleep?” He asked, giving what looked like stew a stir with an old turning fork.

            “Well, thanks. Did you get any sleep at all?” When Griffin had gotten closer, he saw the sleep heavy bag under his eyes that he knew all too well. Preston shrugged at his question.

            “New places usually keep me up for a few nights. With everything going sideways at the last minute…it’s like, I’m just waiting for it to happen here, too.” Preston admitted, looking anywhere else but Griffin. In turn, Griffin pulled up one of the chairs from last night and lounged back a little, closing his eyes as the sun warmed his body.

            “I get it. When they first stationed me in Alaska I couldn’t rest. Every night while we were doing mundane tasks, like clearing our campsite, brushing our teeth, hell, even just taking a piss, there was always something in the air that had everyone on edge. It was like, just let it happen already. Tired of all the waiting, we’d kind of gotten a little crazy. I’d never killed someone before, so I had that to work with, too.” Griffin chuckles bitterly. Cracking an eye open, he saw Preston giving him a slightly distressed look. Griffin returned it with a smirk.

            “What…”

            “Hypervigilance. The perpetual scan of your surroundings using all your senses to make sure danger isn’t near.” Griffin supplied, closing his eye and letting the sun bake his sleep weary muscles. Preston shuffled in his seat, going back to cooking. With his eyes closed, Griffin could hear the movement of his duster, hear the sound of the light breeze in the trees, and what sounded like a crow. No matter how cool he played it with the Minuteman, Griffin had his own brand of PTSD to deal with still.

            _And you’re the only veteran left._

            Grimacing, he sighed and pushed himself up a little roughly, grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of the jumpsuit. He lit it with the gold lighter and took a long drag, eyeing his surroundings. _Still the same. Still the end of the world._

            “Griffin, I wanted to thank you, again, for leading us all here last night.” Preston said, bringing him out of his head.

            “Ah. Don’t worry about it, your gifts were enough.” Griffin snorted, still unsure about the bottle caps. He was going to go with currency, then. Hard to believe that he now knew at least six different ways to cook a brahmin (two headed cows not to be confused with any Hindu practice) and how to determine friend from foe, but not how bottle caps came into play. They were everywhere. _Everywhere._

            “Well, I just can’t believe we made it, you know? But I have another question to ask, and I know you’ve basically saved us twice over, but –”

            “Garvey, what the hell are bottle caps for?” Griffin interrupted, brow furrowed. Preston came to an abrupt halt and sputtered a bit, giving him an incredulous look before it dawned on him that Griffin was from before.

            “Oh! Oh. Yeah, uh, it’s how you buy things now, if you aren’t a trader. They’re more useful in big cities like Diamond City and Goodneighbor.” Preston explained, moving away from the pot of stew to go search for some bowls.

            “Oh, shit, Diamond City. Have you been there before? Do you think…you could give me directions?” Griffin asked, exhaling. He knew he should prepare before embarking. Who knew how far away it was. Besides, Codsworth would have people to keep it company now, if it chose to stay. Which it might. He’d need a new pack of some sort.

            “Ah, yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve been. The general rule of thumb is to just follow the green glow, but you only see that at night, which causes a lot of trouble for some people. There’s a trader around these parts that has a way better idea of how to get there than me. I’m sure she’ll stop by here eventually.” Preston finished softly, seeming unsure about his words. Griffin puffed on his cigarette a few more times before turning to him.

            “Well, I suppose that’s better than dying at night to the hands of some deathclaw.” Griffin said cheerfully. Preston laughed back at him, handing him a bowl of stew. It smelled great, and Griffin saw some carrot pieces, some more meat (probably deathclaw), as well as some snap peas. They had a weird shape to them, but Preston dug in without preamble, so Griffin assumed they were safe. He took a bite after he stubbed out the cigarette. As soon as he began to chew, he made a noise of surprise, delighted at how great it tasted.

            “Good, huh? Preston sure knows how to cook.” Sturges’ voice came from behind as he ambled over to the pot with a bowl. The rest of the settlers seemed to be stirring as well, and soon enough, they were gathered around each other again, going over plans for the day. Marcy assigned herself to the garden, saying she had a few fruits and veggies she could plant, and Jun said (quietly) that he’d work on beds. Mama Murphy said she’d scavenge around as best as she could with Dogmeat and Codsworth, and Sturges added he’d start working on the water supply. Preston and Griffin were assigned with figuring out some sort of defense system. Once they finished their meal, they stood and began the days tasks.

            “Alright, the back of this house has some fencin’ already. Marcy, why don’t we put the crops back here?” Sturges guided her to the back, bag of leftover crops and a gardening hoe in hand. No one asked where she had found it, and Griffin wouldn’t be surprised if she had hidden it somewhere from all of them. Survival looked good on her, but it scared the shit out of everyone else.

            “I’ll, uh, I’ll go with Mama Murphy, see if I can find bed things.” Jun mumbled, taking off after the older woman. Preston shrugged, turning to Griffin.

            “You said you were a soldier? Any defense tactics you can think of that are better than the ones I’ve got?” Preston asked lightly, gesturing for him to follow towards the bridge. Griffin chuckled.

            “Well, there really isn’t enough room for trenches near the valuable parts, and we’re kind of on top of the hill. Barricades would work best, and probable some sort of watch tower. There’s not enough of you here to have someone always assigned on guard duty, but we could work out some sort of schedule. We run the risk of being unguarded at some point.”

            “When would you be unguarded, if you had a choice?”

            “If I had a choice, you’d always have protection. Right now, though, the best bet is to kind of…alternate. I would say going through morning, afternoon, and evening would be best, but you’ll also want to shake that up also. Just kind of sporadic.”

            “Oh?”

            “Well, if you’ve got something stalking you, it’s going to want to remember your sleep patterns, when you’re unguarded, etcetera. If you change it around and stuff, they’ll be forced to either wait perpetually, or just go for it, unprepared. More of a chance, that way.”

            “And what about a deathclaw?”

            “Way I see it, if another one of those things comes after you, you’ll hear and feel it way before it gets here. I found some doors to a cellar. I’ll show you later, once we map out these barricades.” Griffin stopped the conversation, noticing Preston’s looks at his choice of words. Yeah, so he didn’t include himself in this little community, but he still had to find Shaun. He still had a duty, and that had to come before him playing town Mayor.

            So, they worked in silence, making comments about the broken road, using it to their advantage. Over the next few hours, they had created three different barricades out of old cinderblocks, rusted car parts, and the fallen tree branches. They packed them with some leaves and debris, going over their own tactics of defense and determining the fastest way to move between them. It would take a while to get the entire town set up, if they chose to, but it was better than nothing.

            By this time, it was around noon, according to the computer on his wrist. They all met in the house, sitting on the chairs brought inside and fanning themselves. Marcy had finished planting, and now needed to fix the fence around the garden itself, and Jun had found some bedding and had created two makeshift bed frames. Mama Murphy helped as best as she could, and that’s all that really mattered. Codsworth handed them water it’d been making for them, humming cheerfully. Seeing it reach inside its compartment for water got Griffin thinking to the syringe he’d found.

            “Hey, Preston, what’s a purple syringe mean to you?” Preston narrowed his eyes, seeming to think on it, but not happily.

            “Usually that’s Med-X. Why, you find some?” There was a rough edge to his voice that made Griffin instantly defensive.

            “And if I did?”

            “You take it?”

            “And if I wanted to?”

            “It’s a type of drug that helps numb your brain’s reaction to pain, helps you stay on your feet while you try to get somewhere for medical care.” Preston explained, shoulders sagging. Griffin made a noise of surprise.

            “Oh, wow. So, it’s _definitely_ abused here, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah. Sorry if I got a little weird, I just don’t wanna see you giving into the wasteland’s vices.” Preston admitted. Marcy harrumphed and Mama Murphy cleared her through.

            “If you have any, I’ll take it from you. It helps with my Sight, kid. It’ll help you get to where you’re goin’.” Griffin chuckled, uncomfortable with the conversation.

            “I’ll be sure to let you know if I find any.” He lied. They rested in companionable silence, drinking their water before getting back to work. Griffin was going to make sure that they were all set before he decided to wander off.

            Dogmeat seemed to sense his inner turmoil and put a wet nose to the back of his hand, as if to say _I’m comin’ with you._ Griffin smiled down at his canine companion. He could always count on a dog. That, at least, was a universal constant.

            They finished the day along the same lines as finishing their chores, sitting around the fire once more and poking fun at Sturge’s need to constantly hammer things down. Even Marcy seemed to loosen up a little bit, her jokes a little less mean and her face a little more relaxed.

            By the time they were all crawling into bed and saying their goodnights, Griffin decided that he’d get directions from someone tomorrow and head on his way. After all, he had a baby to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER - WE GO INTO THE WASTELAND! I'm taking Griffin away from the Minutemen - I know, terrible. I have bigger plans for him, and don't worry, the trusty minute men will be back! Join us next time, thanks for reading!


	9. Mars, the Bringer of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin heads into the Wasteland and gets a taste of Wasteland etiquette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried adding my chapter forty minutes ago but was doing it through Microsoft Edge and almost had a damn aneurysm doing it. So I got Chrome. HERE IT IS. THE WAIT IS OVER, I AM NOT DEAD. THE WRITER'S BLOCK WAS REAL. GUH. WOW. AHHHHHHH.

 

“Aw, are ya sure ya have to leave so soon?” Sturges grumbled, pausing in his tireless effort of rebuilding the white garden fence. Griffin huffed good naturedly, rolling his eyes. The past few weeks had been great; they all came together as a community to get work done around their new home. It was such an easy task to fall into that Griffin kept catching himself easing into the same routine and pushing off the inevitable.

            Preston, who had become a great friend and comrade to Griffin, hadn’t said much when Griffin talked himself out of leaving. It happened a few times, when they’d be patrolling or building defenses.

            _“Eh, I think I’ll stay a little longer. Looks like I missed a security defect, can’t leave you like this.”_

_“Is it really that hot out during the afternoon? I won’t last long out there, better stay a few extra days.”_

_“My leg kind of hurts, and Dogmeat doesn’t wanna move, huh boy?”_

As kind as he was, though, Preston always had a guilty look when Griffin shook himself the day after and made a vow to leave. Of course, there wasn’t any stopping him.

            Today, though, he made his way into Nora’s house, finally. After doing the same thing for two weeks (had it really been that long?), Griffin figured he might as well go in. He couldn’t make it past the living room, but saw a sun-bleached photo in the old holotape player of Nate and Nora, and suddenly had trouble breathing.

            _What am I doing?_ Shaun’s _out there still. I gotta go._

            “’Fraid so, Sturges. Don’t look so sad; I can visit, I’m sure I’ll see you again!” Griffin reassured until reality hit him, that he couldn’t really plan a day trip. Sturges knew that reality all too well and just gave him a sad sigh.

            “Good folks like you get eatin’ alive out there. But, you gotta do what you gotta do. I reckon your nephew is our there somewhere just waitin’ for ya.” He furrowed his brow and wiped the sweat with the back of a welding glove. The sun had lowered in the sky and it had to be at least the end of November, but long hours in direct sunlight still sucked, even this early in the morning.

            “I’m glad you agree, then. Besides, once I find him, I really want to bring him back here. I don’t know what else after that, but I want us to start here.” Griffin didn’t admit that thinking about what would happen once he found Shaun scared the shit out of him. They would come back to Sanctuary; his duty would be complete – he’d have to actually live life here. There would be no way back. Nora would still be dead.

            “That’ll be a mighty fine plan. You just be careful, though. I know you took down that deathclaw, but lord knows that was a lot of luck.” Sturges said, standing up fully and shaking Griffin out of his thoughts.

            Dogmeat was already suited up and lounging on the drive way, the saddle bags that Jun and he had made together fitting snuggly and blending well with his long fur. Some of the jumpsuits that Griffin had found were rolled tightly in the leather straps, and a few emergency provisions were stashed. First aid and food, especially.

            Codsworth had decided to stay behind early in their frontiering, deeming it necessary that it stay around and keep watch of the place.

            _“People die, but General Atomics is forever, Sir_!” It had chuckled, doing its best at lawn care and cooking. Griffin didn’t see enough of a reason to argue with it and just went with it.

            “I’ve got Dogmeat with me! He’ll watch my back, huh bud?” Griffin called to the mutt, smiling at the single thump of his tail. It was a good enough answer for him.

            “I know, I know. Well, we better get everyone together and send you on your way then, cowboy.” He grumbled and rang the bell Marcy had found and installed on the porch, waiting as everyone poured in. By the looks on their faces, they already knew what was going on.

            “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Marcy demanded, arms crossed. Griffin learned early on it’s easier to just be straight up with her than pussy foot. He gave her a sharp nod, which she returned. “Well, if you see any of those raider bastards, shoot one in the head for me.” She then pulled on the strap of her bag and tossed the whole thing towards him.

            “What…?”

            “I’m not traveling anymore, so I don’t need it. I’m dying here, and I am _so done_ with travelling. So, you take it. You can put stuff in it.” Marcy explained, thinking Griffin a simple man. Griffin learned to just go along with that, too.

            “Ah. Thanks, Marcy. Really.” He slung it over his back and she shrugged, waved it off, and then left. For those that knew her, that was the best goodbye he’d ever get. Mama Murphy said her goodbyes, too, and Jun gave him some tools to use on his leg if he needed it, thanking him quietly for bringing them here.

            Finally, Preston held out his hand. Griffin looked at it, raised a brow, and closed the distance between them in a rough hug.

            “Thanks for everything, man. Really, I don’t think I could have survived long without it!” Griffin confessed with a laugh. Preston returned the gesture with his own laugh.

            “Well, glad some of my life lessons stuck in your head. Just promise me, if you see any settlements…you’ll help them.” Preston gave him a serious look, and Griffin nodded. It was a long-standing conversation they’d get into sometimes. Preston had asked Griffin on the third day if he’d like to help him rebuild the Minutemen, and Griffin had said no. Not with Shaun out there. He couldn’t focus on leading men into battle again and forget about his prior obligation to Shaun. Not that that helped in anyway shape or form, since it’d taken him this long to get back on the road.

            “Of course. I’ll send word that the Minutemen are rebuilding. You might get some recruits, eh?” Griffin kept it as light hearted as he could, but leaving anything is never easy.

            Finally, Codsworth synthesized as much purified water as it could and made Griffin stuff his pack with it, as well as stash some in Dogmeat’s own pack. By the time his Pip-boy read 0900, Griffin was waving goodbye and walking into the wasteland.

\---

            Whistling to himself, Griffin pulled out a small carton of water, taking a few swigs before tearing the top off and letting Dogmeat lap it up as they stopped at the side of the road. The sun was higher, and Griffin had unzipped the top of his jumpsuit and tied the arms around his waist. The white shirt he’d been wearing underneath was damp in the small of his back, and the small breeze that played with the leaves in the road sent a shiver down his spine.

            He’d made some distance; Sanctuary was no longer in site, and he could barely see the tip of the Red Rocket station. He’d only been met with some wildlife, and had been able to chase away the dogs and crows easily enough. Dogmeat’s ears were still perked, and the ground was cool enough that Griffin wasn’t worried about his paws.

            Griffin had also fiddled with the knobs and buttons on his Pip Boy, finding a radio station that played soothing, classical music. It reminded him of a guy he once served with who would clean his power armor to Chopin and Greig. Chuckling, he adjusted the volume and let the piano melody tinkle in the background. His hair was tied up behind his head, but the band he’d used to keep it there was weak and unraveling, causing a few strands to flit around in the wind. As romantic as it sounded, it damn near drove Griffin crazy.

            Every tickle translated to something sinister, and all he could think of were the gaping jaws of the deathclaw.

            He was lost in thought with the melodies of “Hall of the Mountain King” when he heard a voice off in the distance. An angry voice.

            “…over the goods! You owe us!”

            Narrowing his eyes, he held a hand out to Dogmeat, willing him to follow. Griffin himself crouched, pulling the pistol from his side and cocking it as quietly as he could.

            “I ain’t givin’ you poison-shilling chem pushers anything! Do you know what that junk has done to my boy?” A woman’s voice, outraged. _Chems._ A purple syringe flashed into memory. Ah, so it really is abused. Grimacing, Griffin chose to approach this as he would any other altercation. With his gun still cocked, he kept it raised and stood up straight, tracking the voices to an old diner front.

            “Whoa there, man! This doesn’t involve you!” A woman, a different one, suddenly shouted in his direction, aiming what looked like a raider rifle at him.  Griffin couldn’t hold back the disgusted scoff. He wanted to throw his hands up and just turn right around, but these guys had no honor. They wouldn’t let him walk.

            “Okay, when you have a gun in my face, I sort of think it might involve me. Just a little. What makes you think I’m going to just walk away, huh?” He demanded, brows furrowed. The woman kept looking at his arms, no doubt trying to figure out what the designs and pictures were. In a crazed thought, Griffin wondered if this world had tattoos anymore. He suddenly felt self-conscious.

            “Look, we all got problems, alright? I’m just trying to collect on what’s owed to me.” The man said, taking in Griffin’s laser musket on his back. “I don’t suppose you’d feel like helping us out? Could use an extra gun. Or, since you’re so talkative, maybe you could talk some sense into Trudy over there, eh?” The guy straightened, lowering his own weapon. The woman, however, kept hers trained on him and didn’t look like she was going to follow the other guy’s actions any time soon.

            Griffin weighed his options before mentally slapping himself. He hadn’t even _seen_ this Trudy yet, why the hell did he think he would be shooting her over some drug battle for a guy he didn’t even know?

            “I’ll go talk to her. Maybe we can work this out.” Griffin grumped, holstering the pistol carefully. It was within quick reach in case he needed it later. The guy nodded at him, thanking him.

            “If things go south, we’ll back you up.”

            “Right.”

            Dogmeat gave a grumble along with him and followed Griffin inside the diner. Trudy, who apparently owed these thugs money, looked like a regular, pissed off shop owner. It was the kid in the baseball jacket that was rocking back and forth in the back that gave him an idea of what might going on.

            “Hey, there –”

            “I saw you and the poison-seller talking. Well, he ain’t gettin’ his money. Period.” She snapped, crossing her arms. The boy in the back whimpered and curled into himself tighter.

            Griffin sighed.

            “Well, I’d really just like an explanation. I mean, screw that guy.” Griffin said, waving a hand in their direction. Trudy narrowed her eyes at him and gestured for him to take a seat in the dinner booth. They both sat on opposite sides, guns on the table in front of them. Dogmeat made an inquisitive noise and trotted over to the young man going through some sort of withdrawal and nosing at him. The boy flinched.

            “Figured he didn’t tell you jack. My son, Patrick, got up to no good and met that silver-tongued jack ass Wolfgang. Got him addicted to Jet and started going easy on him for the payment, saying he could just pay him back. Took out a goddamn credit line on my boy and he expects me to pay him back in full.” She scoffed, turning and glaring out the window. Wolfgang waved and the woman made a knife slicing motion with her thumb across her neck.

            “Bastards. I figured, but I’m getting real tired of always being right, Trudy.” Griffin sighed, getting ready to stand up. Trudy kicked him gently under the tablet, signaling him to stay.

            “What’s your name?”

            “Name’s Griffin.” Trudy considered him for a moment, no doubt taking in his appearance and cataloging it for later. He could only imagine what he looked like to her; what, with the pinkened scars on his skin from the sun irritating them, the mess of auburn hair, and his tattoos. For all intents and purposes, Griffin could be a worse thug than Wolfgang. She’d have no way of knowing better.

            “I’ve got a nice hook up with a trader that comes through here. Name’s Trashcan Carla. Best prices, decent stock, and I’ve got a discount. I’d be willing to extend that to you plus a hundred caps if you get rid of those sons of bitches.”

            “Amicably?”

            “Don’t care. Just get them away from my boy.” Dogmeat, as if privy to the conversation, whined at Patrick, who was still shaking and sobbing quietly. The Pip Boy was playing the thrumming strings of “Mars, Bringer of War” by Gustav Holst. If Griffin thought he could escape the war, he was thoroughly mistaken.

            “Alright, Trudy. I’ll get rid of them.”

            “Good. I’ll back you up from here, if you need it.” She eyed him as he shrugged the sleeves of his jumpsuit back on. With another sigh, he stood and nodded to her, told Dogmeat to stay, and walked out with his gun raised.

            Wolfgang and his companion knew instantly that they hadn’t won. Guns drawn, they yelled about traitorous bastards and began firing. Their aim was poor, but it had Griffin hiding behind one of the upturned picnic tables. In easy motions, Griffin leaned out from the side just a bit to tag the woman in the thigh, the scream distracting Wolfgang for a moment too long.

            In a precise shot, Griffin pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet buried itself into his chest. Wolfgang dropped and Griffin finished the companion off easy enough. It was quiet, their groans and screams of pain silenced quickly. Griffin felt like he was going to vomit.

            _I’m a goddamn mercenary, I guess._

            Trudy was grim, but happy.

            “Thank you, Griffin. Here,” and she motioned him to her cash register, pulling a hundred red shiny caps from the bottom and handing them to him. He stuck them in his pockets, and Dogmeat gave him a happy bark. _Yes, we did it! Money!_ He seemed to say.

            “Thanks Trudy. Are we good here?” Trudy nodded.

            “Yeah, the bodies will be gone by morning I’m sure. Serves as a warning to any other jackass that comes through here. Can’t wait to see the crows feeding on that scumbag, anyways.”

            “I hear ya.”

            “If you follow this route down a little, you’ll come across Carla. She’s usually right next to the bridge smoking a cigarette or six. Just tell her I sent you, and if she asks for proof, just say ‘marigold.’ She’ll know what it means.” Trudy said, giving him a curt nod before tending to her shaking son. Patrick stuttered out a few words, but it wasn’t discernable. Griffin gave a wave and hit the door frame to signal his leave. It wasn’t even noon, by the looks of his Pip Boy.

            Dogmeat trotted happily in front of him, ears still perked, as they began their trek again. _Just keep heading towards Diamond City._

            And with that, Griffin filed this away and stored it in the back of his mind to be dealt with at a later date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE DID IT. YES. I HAVE THIS PLANNED OUT, NOW. WORD WEBBED, WHITE BOARD, STORY BOARD PLANNED OUT. LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU GUYS. NEXT UP - MORE WASTELAND (with a purpose!)


	10. This is the Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin continues his trek to Diamond City. Meets some strangers along the way, and continues his losing battle with survivors guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi welcome to my story i revived from the dead. a lot has happened in my life and i would just open up my little word document and be like wow hello old friend. BUT DON'T WORRY. until i say i'm done with this story, it'll be updated, damn it, it just might not be regular.

Griffin hadn’t come across the trader that Trudy had told him about, but that was fine with him. His walk towards Diamond City calmed down, and hadn’t been interrupted much after Drumlin Diner, but there were a few distractions. Dogmeat found him an abandoned stash of chems at an old drive in, as well as nasty nest of mutated bot flies. They buzzed madly and shot lumps of mucus his way, which were actually larvae upon closer inspection. After that nightmare, Griffin had decided to take Dogmeat’s inquisitive whines with a grain of salt.

            Now, the sun was setting in the sky and his Pip Boy read somewhere between five and six. He didn’t have the heart to read anything past the first number, and his leg was creaking something fierce. This was the most he’d walked since de-thawing and his joints were definitely feeling it. Griffin’s shoulders were tight with the beginnings of a sunburn, and he was getting hungry. Sturges had told him about the irradiated deer that would walk around, as w ell as things called Yao Guai. Enough fire and water and he’d have a decent steak. Codsworth had made him some basic meal replacements, saying it had learned from Nate. Being reminded of Nate gave his heart a strange twinge, and he remembered the holotape in his ammo bag.

            _One day._

Griffin felt himself dragging and took a break at a cross roads. It looked like old military gear had been left behind and trucks were abandoned. He propped himself up on one of the barricades he was very familiar with, and patted his pockets, searching for the pack of smokes he’d stashed away and made a small ‘ah-ha!’ sound when he found them. Dogmeat trotted around the site, poking his nose in places it probably shouldn’t be. There was a glowing green plant on a trailer of a truck, and barrels that had been emptied were stacked all around it. _Nuclear waste?_

            Preston had told him about all the radiation, rads they called them, and how to spot it without a Geiger counter. They had found that Griffin’s Pip Boy had one built in and would click when he got too close, which proved accurate most of the time. It seemed fine, now, so Griffin wasn’t bothered. He inhaled deeply, the nicotine rush calming his nerves. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, trying to keep awake. Dogmeat returned and gave him an inquisitive look. Griffin mocked the dog, raising his brows and trying to ask him what he wanted, when a sudden yell came from his left.

            Instantly on edge, he tossed his cigarette and hurtled over the barricade, ducking and pulling his 10mm in a fluid motion. The yell came again, and this time, it sounded like a man. Griffin hadn’t met the last group of people easily, so he peeked around the edge of the barricade warily.

            What he saw was almost comical.

            A man in a heavy green coat and at least six scarves was waving a gun around madly, shooting at the ground. His pants were bleached and his shoes were mismatching, one a tall black boot and the other, a pale pink sneaker. He had a crazed look about him, and it was only when the long, skinny tale of a wasteland baddie disappeared under ground that his actions made sense.

            _Mole rats._

Forgetting his earlier wariness, Griffin stood and ran over to him, his leg squeaking. The noise was enough to bring the rats’ attention to it, causing them to burrow back under ground, no doubt on their way to him. The man made a surprised noise before looking up and seeing Griffin and Dogmeat, posed and ready to knock the rats down.

            “Hey! Watch out!” He shrieked, pointing to the rat behind them. He jogged over to Griffin, gait uneven and fatigued. Griffin was about to tell him to stay back, he’d only get in the way, when one of the ugly beasts launched out of the ground and went for his torso. Dogmeat knocked it away, giving Griffin an opening. He pulled Jackson’s combat knife from his boot and did a quick slash across its stomach, ending its life quickly. The smell of fresh blood, however, brought them all running.

            “Back up, man! They’re coming!” Griffin yelled, but the man wasn’t listening. He had a little pistol of his own, ready to go.

            “Not leaving just yet! Hey – just saw some movement over there!” He called, gesturing to their right. As they circled and began picking off the stragglers one by one, they got closer, eventually back to back and firing at the beasts in fast succession.

            “That…that might be the last of ‘em.” The scavenger said after a while, huffing. Griffin kept his mouth shut, not ready to say anything yet. “Well, maybe my good karma is finally paying off!”

            As soon as that declaration left the man’s mouth, a giant, rabid mole rat came tumbling out of the hillside, angry and frothing.

            “Not just yet!” Griffin sneered, kneeling and taking aim. The man started laughing, firing at the mole rat with him.

            “Well, that’s just Commonwealth Justice for you!”

            “It’s cockiness!” Griffin snapped back, watching the rabid rat pant and squeal before keeling over from its weeping wounds. “Humble yourself a little!”

            The man chuckled, huffing and puffing. There were dead mole rats all around him, and it looked like the rabid one was the last of them. Awkwardly, Griffin wiped the blood off on a bandana he’d picked up before pocketing it and sliding the knife back into this boot. Just as he slipped the pistol back into his holster, the man cleared his throat.

            “Thanks, brother. Not a lot of people left who’d just help a stranger these days. Here; it’s not much, but, I hope it helps.” The man gave him some water, some carrots, and another jingly pouch of caps. Griffin thanked him, throwing it in his pack before getting ready to leave. But, the man called him back again.

            “What’s your name? I’m Hank!” He held out a hand that was covered in dirt and scars. Griffin shook it, marveling that even his own war-torn hands looked brand new compared to Hank’s.

            “I’m Griffin. Nice to meet you, Hank. Stay out of trouble.” He nodded and turned to walk away, Hank thanking him again and promising to spread tales of his good work across the Commonwealth. Griffin sighed quietly, fishing for another cigarette. While he didn’t mind helping out those around him, he really wasn’t ready to become the next Robin Hood.

            The sound of flies buzzing and Hank’s chatter died out as he headed east. Following the old road took him past a few cars that Mother Nature had tried to reclaim, the vines and carrot flowers sprouting despite everything. Dogmeat trotted up ahead of him, circling once before returning to his side. He continued his little rounds while Griffin puffed on his cigarette, and the clouds gathered a little closer together in the sky. The fight with the mole rats hadn’t lasted long, and he still had some daylight he could burn.

            Where the road forked out a little, Griffin saw the ledge and the familiar trunk of a giant tree. Grimly, he knew exactly where he was. The breeze ruffled the leaves and toyed with strands of his air as he looked down into the Wildwood Cemetery. A few brothers and sisters had been cremated and lowered here, but Griffin’s leg had made him incapable of visiting when they needed it most.

            _Now’s a better time than never._

            Giving a soft whistle to Dogmeat, Griffin began his decent into the clearing, saddened by the destruction that had befallen the sacred grounds. Tombstones were chipped by none other than bullets from shoot outs, and trash was plastered to the walls of mausoleums. Dogmeat huffed and trotted around the perimeter as Griffin read some of the names still visible.

            The sight was eerie, and emotion built up in the back of Griffin’s throat, causing him to nearly trip over some debris. A rolling wave of sadness and guilt nearly knocked him on his ass as he looked down on the forgotten bones of a mother in a powder blue dress, skeletal fingers wrapped tightly around the baby carriage handle.

            Griffin didn’t dare look inside the carriage.

            He couldn’t.

            A shuddering sigh wracked its way through him, his body moving on auto pilot to sit on a stone bench on the other side. He could barely catch his breath, the overwhelming survivor’s guilt clouding his thoughts. It was his fault for jumping in front of the grenade blast, anyways. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He left his brothers and sisters to fight and die on the front lines while he was pampered and “tested on” back home. Griffin deserved the isolation; he was no better than a goddamn traitor.

            The intrusive thoughts kept building, with Dogmeat whining at his feet. His hands shook as he reached for another cigarette, needing something to focus on. Griffin’s hands were trembling too much, though; the pack slipped right through his fingers and skidded across the sidewalk.

            When he went to reach for it, a voice cleared its throat. Pausing, Griffin swallowed roughly and looked up, slowly. What he wasn’t prepared to see, but was fully expecting, was the head dress of a raider, her face streaked in coal, hair matted, and body covered in misshapen leather straps and bandages.

            The look in her eyes was akin to pity, but also familiarity. In her hands were some carrot flowers and some giant purple flower, and an inhaler in the other.

            _Jet. The chem Mama Murphy was talking about._

            They locked eyes for a few moments longer, Griffin’s breathing evening out slightly. His breakdown was pushed to the back of his mind, where it usually was, because the immediate threat was front and center. He could break down later anyways. She sneered at him before grabbing the pack of cigarettes before he could. Griffin felt his eyes narrow slightly as he watched her pull one out and sniff it.

            “A plain cigarette. No wonder yer havin’ a break down. You need that hard shit, kid. This place? Not that great sober. Take it from me. Well, don’t take _anything_ from me, or I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.”

            And with that, she tossed the pack at his chest, lighting the cigarette with a gold flip lighter before walking into a giant mausoleum. Griffin could make out some sort of alter before she walked in and quietly closed the door.

            Dogmeat’s growls subsided as they both seem to take in what just happened. Griffin’s breathing finally returned to normal, and he wasn’t craving a cigarette anymore. Sighing heavily, he stuffed the pack of cigarettes back into his breast pocket and leaned back, simply breathing the stale air. The breeze reminded him that it was getting colder and that he should really keep moving.

            With another sigh, he stood up and made his way past the mausoleum the raider had gone into and followed a road going east. He untied his sleeves as he was walking, snaking his arms through them and zipping it up. The evening air was getting colder, and as if to punctuate his thought, he felt his body give a little shiver. To his right, he saw a large lake, remembering driving by it often, and seeing the large grate for the sewer. Dogmeat sneezed, drawing Griffin’s attention back to what was happening in front of him. A crossroads made him pause in his walk, eyeing the sunset warily. Dogmeat yipped, pawing and pointing towards the left side of the path with his nose. When Griffin followed his line of sight, he could see lights and turret machinery, chugging away, and steam rising from the roof of a well-kept house.

            “Holy shit, Dogmeat, did we find Suburbia?” Griffin murmured to the dog, reaching down to scratch his ears before drawing his pistol and creeping down the path. It only took a few minutes for him to see the well illuminated entrance and the gate keeper, too. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, typical civilian clothes, and was sitting on an old dining room table chair, flipping through a magazine. Griffin continued his approach, gun low and knees bent. His leg decided to cooperate for the time being, the creaks and squeaks silenced. The blue doors marking the entrance were lighted, blindingly so, and a sign was arching above them with the name “COVENANT” painted across it.  

            Once Griffin found himself at the entrance, the man standing (or, well, sitting)watch, looked up lazily from his magazine and looked at him with a mixed air of curiosity and disinterest. Griffin straightened, Dogmeat standing flush against his left thigh. Before Griffin could open his mouth to speak, the man sat forward and beat him to it.

            “You visitin’ Covenant, pal?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Covenant is such a huge part of this story and Griffin's character development, I hope you're READY FOR THE PAIN TRAIN. Until next time, remember i love all of you and you're so great.


	11. The Sky is a Neighborhood, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin enters Covenant and is blindsided by how surreal it is. Is this how all the settlements of the Wasteland are? And why does everyone seem so happy to seem him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONGRATION, I FINALLY DID IT. A lot of life things happened recently. I'm hoping to get back into my groove, but it's going to be rough. Thank you to everyone who's still kicking and interested in where I take Griffin next. Much love.

_“You visitin’ Covenant, pal?”_

            Griffin eyed the man in the leather jacket, confused by the plain look he was donning; something so simple, so casual, in a place like this. It made him suddenly feel conscious of the worn jumpsuit and various pieces of leather and straps he wore. The man in turn was giving him the same assessing look, not very impressed by the pistol in his hand or the rifle strapped to his back. Dogmeat grumbled low, flush against Griffin’s legs. Something was very uneasy about this place, and the near perfect roofing that was visible over the thick, concrete walls was just the beginning. _Is that…barbed wire?_ He thought, eyeing the perimeter. 

            “Hey, you deaf?” The man asked again, this time standing from his seat and nearly towering over Griffin. He was taller than most and his shoulders were broad as hell. Griffin shifted nervously, gripping his pistol tight. From his break down in the grave yard to _this,_ he had to be on some wild drug trip. _Right?_

            “I’ve, uh, I’ve never heard of this place before.” He said truthfully, waiting for some sort of reaction, or even a dismissal. Surely something so lucrative wasn’t available to just anyone, and if he was sent on his way, well, who’s to say that this wasn’t just some sort of fever dream, anyways? Something like this? After 200 plus years? Come on. _There’s not way this is what settlements looked like. Right? Yeah? Oh god._

            “Oh, buddy, are you in for a treat. We’ve got lemonade, warm beds, even a doctor. Before anyone can enter, though, we’ve got to run you through the required test. Sound good? Thing is, if you fail, you just can’t ever, _ever_ , come in. Capisce?” The man’s mood changed so suddenly that Griffin felt like he’d been blindsided by a quarterback. His face relaxed and he smirked, turning his back on Griffin and walking into the little alcove where a desk and some pencils sat. Empty cups of coffee were on the shelf behind him, and a small potted plant was hidden in the corner, desperately needing water of any sort.

            “I mean, I guess I understand it. What if you haven’t been out here long enough to know everything?” Griffin challenged, following him warily. Dogmeat’s hackles hadn’t fallen one bit, and the look in the dog’s eyes seemed to scream _are you kidding me?! Walking_ towards _the danger?_

“It’s not that kind of test, friend. We call it our Safe Test.” He clarified, shuffling some papers and pulling a notepad from the desk drawer. Griffin felt silly when considering taking this test. It’s not like the guy said if he passes he could never, _ever,_ leave, but it was seriously implied.

            “Your lemonade, your rules, I suppose,” Griffin shrugged, holstering his pistol. His hands were aching from how tight he was gripping it. The man nodded sagely, as if Griffin had just bestowed holy scripture upon him.

            “So, how ‘bout it? I know we got off on the wrong foot earlier, but something tells me you were looking for a place like this for a while.” The man urged, sitting as his desk and patting the other side with another grin. Dogmeat grumbled, as if to say _you’re on your own!_

            “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. I mean, I get in or I don’t. No harm, no foul.”

            “Great! Go ahead and sit there, and we’ll begin. I’m Swanson, by the way. You are?”

            “Griffin Bell.” It felt weird introducing himself to a normal guy in the wasteland. He wanted to laugh; he wanted to cry. Hysteria was something else. His head felt like it was going to pop off at any moment with how many things he was considering and thinking about, like what other places would look like, and if _this_ was a settlement, then what the hell did Diamond City look like?

            “Nice to meet you Griffin, and don’t worry – just relax and answer these as best as you can.” Swanson said, bring him out of his own thoughts.

            “Sure thing, Swanson.” Griffin acknowledged, forcing himself to slouch in his chair and appear relaxed. If he failed, maybe the killed him? Hence why he couldn’t get in? _Oh god, what if they’re cannibals?_

            “First question! You are approached by a frenzied scientist, who yells, ‘I'm going to put my quantum harmonizer in your photonic resonation chamber!’ What's your response?” The serious look on Swanson’s face as he asked Griffin the ludicrous question was all that was keeping him from bursting out with laughter.

            _What the fuck is this place?_               

            “I’d, uh, tell him ‘up yours, too, buddy.’” Griffin guessed, watching Swanson’s face mull over his answer.

            “Fair enough. Next question. While working as an intern in the Clinic, a patient with a strange infection on his foot stumbles through the door. The infection is spreading at an alarming rate, but the doctor has stepped out for a while. What do you do?” _Ah,_ Griffin thought, _now this seems like a normal question._

            “I’m interning, right? So, I theoretically know some medical stuff.” Griffin stated, waiting for Swanson to correct him. Swanson simply nodded thoughtfully, agreeing. “Then, then I’m going to yell for the doctor while I begin to medicate.” Griffin felt proud of this answer. Swanson, however, didn’t seem all that impressed.

            “Interesting. Next on the list is…ah. You discover a young boy lost in a cave. He's hungry and frightened, but also appears to be in possession of stolen property. What do you do?”

            “Is this on some sort of mission? Or am I just wandering through the caves and stuff?”

            “What do you think?” Swanson asked, eyeing him thoughtfully. Griffin furrowed his brow and thought for a minute.

            “Well, whichever scenario, I probably have food on me. So, I’d give him some food and take him back home, while also telling his parents that he stole something. It’s not my place to parent him or get him in trouble, anyways.” Griffin finished, shrugged. Swanson looked bewildered.

            “You wouldn’t…never mind. Anyways. Next question. Congratulations! You made it onto a baseball team! Which position do you prefer?” _Oh god, what was he implying? I wouldn’t_ eat _him? Oh god, they’re definitely cannibals._

            “Easy – pitcher.” Griffin answered simply, tapping his foot a little impatiently. His skin was crawling, and he figured if he just passed the test and ran off, they wouldn’t do anything. Right?

            “Solid answer. Your grandmother invites you to tea, but you're surprised when she gives you a pistol and orders you to kill someone. What do you do?”

            “Whoa, uh…well, I guess I’d ask her what she wants? Or like, why in the hell we’re doing that to neighbor Scott anyways?” Griffin chuckled, caught off guard.

            “Really? And you gave the theoretical neighbor a name. Interesting…well, let’s keep going. Old Mr. Abernathy has locked himself in his quarters again, and you've been ordered to get him out. How do you proceed?” Swanson made little notes on his pad of paper and Griffin couldn’t help but think his flippant answers were getting him in trouble. _Oh well. I deserve this._

            “I’d pick the lock.” Griffin answered. Swanson made another note and turned his page over.

            “Fair. We’re almost there, Griffin, just a few more. Oh, no! You've been exposed to radiation, and a mutated hand has grown out of your stomach! What's the best course of treatment?”

            “Oh, uh, well, I suppose I’d talk to my medic about it and hopefully get some kind of anti-mutagen agent. Or maybe just cut it off. That’s a tough one,” Griffin scratched the back of his head, stuck on the idea of a limb just popping out of his stomach. _Too bad that would never happen, or I’d have a goddamn leg. Bastards._

“Hmmm. I suppose. Alright, a neighbor is in possession of a Grognak the Barbarian comic book, issue number 1. What’s the best way to obtain it?”

            “Oh, uh, chances are I’ve got something equally as great in my own collection, so I’d trade with him. These are…strange? I’m sorry, I just don’t think we have the same definition of safety?” Griffin pleaded, wanting an explanation on how this had anything to do with safety.

            “The questions are designed to make you think, for sure. Alright, last one. You decide it would be fun to play a prank on your father. You enter his private restroom when no one is looking, and....?” Swanson asked, choosing to pass on Griffin’s own question. Griffin couldn’t help the sour look on his face. Sighing, he went back to the question.

            “I put some poppits underneath the lid of his toilet seat so they’ll all pop when he sits down.” Griffin answered easily, remembering when him and Nora had a prank war with each other. She’d done this to him and it had scared the ever-living hell out of him.

            “Oh? Really? Huh. No one’s answered quite like you have before, but you did it, Griffin. I’ll go ahead and open up the gate for ya.” Swanson stood and walked towards the gate, pulling keys out of his jacket pocket and unlocking the door. The large blue doors swung open slowly, and Griffin couldn’t believe his eyes. He turned in the chair and stood warily, walking over to the archway with Dogmeat trailing closely beside him.

            It was a small slice of suburbia. The houses were cookie cutter to each other, and a large tree stood strong in the middle of some lush, green grass. A few people were milling about, dressed in leisurely clothes. To his right, a man was farming, humming a quiet tune while a girl in a green jumpsuit was tinkering away in a small workshop. On his left, an old man sat in a lawn chair, a cup in his hand and a curious look on his face. They all seemed to acknowledge Griffin at once, giving him a small nod or a wave.

            “Holy _shit._ ” Griffin whispered, reaching down to give Dogmeat a gentle pat. The dog seemed to calm down slightly, and relaxed enough to trot around him and sniff. A house cat sat perched near the old man, grooming herself lazily, and not bothered at all by the dog. Griffin heard the familiar whirr of weaponry and looked up to see turrets and spot lights wired on every corner. The barbed wire around the stone walls made him feel caged, yet protected at the same time. He took note of this and realized that there was only one entrance into the place. _Peculiar._  

            Griffin wandered, unsure where to start, and almost ran into the girl who was at the work bench.

            “Oh, shit, my bad!”

            “Sorry! I really gotta – oh! You! You just came here, didn’t you? You’re the stranger!” She practically shrieked, her black hair messy and splayed across her face. Intimidated, Griffin took a step back.

            “Uh, sure. Yeah, and uh, you are?”

            “Oh! I’m Talia. I make things. Well, uh, I make things for the store, for Penny to sell. And sometimes I fix things, too, if you’ve got the right amount of caps.” She added as if it was an afterthought. A strange feeling began creeping up his back and resting at the base of his neck, like he was being watched, and not by visible eyes. Griffin shook it off almost immediately – of _course_ he felt this, there were spotlights on every damn corner. _Calm down. No one’s eating people…yet._

            “Nice to meet you, Talia. I’m Griff –”

            “Griffin, yeah! You’re gonna love it here. We love everyone, and we’re always ready to help with whatever you need. It’s just the best place in the Commonwealth. You’ll see!”

            “I’m sure I’ll like it here.” Griffin offered. _Why is she acting like I’m going to be moving in?_

“You’ll love it, I just know it. Feel free to use any of my tools – and if you need anything, just let me know!” She smiled and trotted past him, making a beeline to the man who was sitting on the porch. She began talking to the older man about something big, judging by her waving arms. The older man just nodded along thoughtfully, still eyeing Griffin. _Oh geez, they’re probably talking about what seasoning I’ll be best with._ Griffin chuckled lightly at his own running joke, shaking his head.

            Dogmeat had relaxed enough that he was sitting by a fence next to one of the houses. Griffin went to join him when a loud voice interrupted his hazy, suburbia fantasy. One of the men was definitely not like the other people here, with his long hair, pistol, and ragged clothing.

            “…caravan came through here a few days back. Worked for Old Man Stockton. You saw them, right?” He demanded, looking down at the man. Griffin wondered if it would be right to step in and get himself noticed right away.

            “Look, I don’t know, I really don’t remember. We get _tons_ of traffic, anyways –” Griffin wasn’t able to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation when a hand dropped onto his shoulder and caused him to reach for his pistol.

            “Whoa there, friend! Just saying hello.” Griffin looked up and saw the warm smile of the old man, though up close, it seemed…off. Forced.

            “Uh, hi.”

            “Glad to see you were able to pass our safety test. It’s very important to me that everyone here feel welcome and happy, and we’ve always got room for our likeminded individuals and good, quality people. I’m the mayor, Jacob Orden, and you, are Griffin Bell.”

            “Wow. You must have eyes everywhere,” Griffin laughed nervously, extending his hand to shake as a formality. The mayor took it quickly, his smile easing.

            “You would think so. Until you get set up here on your own, you can use one of the beds in our guest house. You wouldn’t be the first neighbor we’ve built a house for and you won’t be the last. That is, if you decide to settle down here.”

            “That’s very generous of you. Do I have to pass a citizenship test? Pay taxes?” Griffin joked hesitantly, unsure what buttons he could push. The mayor simply chortled, finding it amusing.

            “No, no. You passed our test, and that’s good enough for us. You should stop by Penny’s store, when you have time. She’s a lovely lass, and she has an array of wares for you to choose from. Our doctor, Doctor Patricia, is in the same building and can help treat you for any injuries you sustained on your way here.”

            “O…kay…is that, um, customary to always point out the store and the doctor?”

            “We see many caravans pass through here, so many that we often forget where they’re going or who they are, so these areas see the most traffic. Of course, we have Talia our mechanic and Ted, our farmer, and the rest of the able-bodied people here volunteer on guard duty. You met Swanson, our proverbial Gate Keeper. I’m going to assume a job in protection is right up your alley, Griffin, is it not?” Griffin eyed him with slight disdain, unhappy with his presence but willing to play along.

            “Only if it comes with retirement and a 401k.” He sniffed, fishing for his cigarettes. Mayor Orden pulled an ash tray out of seemingly nowhere and handing it to him, turning to walk away.

            “Please don’t ash on the grass, friend. It may not look like it, but we’re very proud of our landscaping.” Griffin huffed, telling the solider in him to calm down. He had his out, anyways – the Mayor had already said that if he _chose_ to settle down here, they’d accommodate him. That didn’t mean he couldn’t ever leave, and cannibals were normally nice to their dinner. So, there. _Just the regular privileged riff-raff._

“Hey, you. You from around here? God, I hope not…” Griffin was getting real tired of being snuck up on. He set his ashtray down and turned around with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The guy behind him was the one talking to the settler about the caravan earlier.

            “You got a problem with the people here?” Griffin challenged.

            “All the fake smiles and fancy talking…the weird threats without outright threatening you…puts me on edge. The sooner I’m out of here, the better. I’m Dan, but some people call me Honest Dan.” He puffed on his own cigarette, not bothering with formalities like a handshake or things of that ilk. _Ah, a wastelander. Familiar._

“Nice to meet you, I guess. I’m Griffin, and I just got here, so…” Griffin turned like he was going to make his way out of there, but Honest Dan grabbed his shoulder.

            “Wait! Do you know anything about Stockton’s caravan?”

            “Caravan? I’m not really the…caravan type.”

            “Well, this isn’t about trading. I signed on with Old Man Stockton to find his lost caravan. What’s left of it…well, that’s just up the road there. The last stop they made was here, so I’ve been trying to put together the story, except I’ve been getting the run around.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that. You think they’re hiding something?” Griffin asked, puffing on his smoke and enjoying the burn in the back of his throat.

            “Yeah…there’s no way they aren’t. Got a proposal for you. Help me find Stockton’s people and we split the reward. At least one survivor walked out of the massacre, and I intend to make good on my contract.”

            Griffin washed the idea around in his head, literally turning his back on a community that he as just welcomed into. The _first_ community he was welcomed into. There was no good reason to do it. 

            “I don’t know. I, I’ve got some things of my own to work through. Let me think about it?” Griffin asked, unsure how to really feel. Dogmeat was quiet at his side, his eyes a little droopy. They had just walked quite a bit – it was getting close to 9 P.M., anyways.

            “Sure, I understand. Let me know if you change your mind, Griffin. I’ll still be here, gathering my information.” Honest Dan said, turning slowly and making his way to a tent in the corner. It looked like a perfect camping set up, but was seriously out of place in between two town houses.

            Griffin sighed, stubbing his cigarette out on the ash tray and setting it down on the crates near the house. People were still leisurely hanging about, not bothered by the time of night. With a sudden thought, Griffin realized that normal working hours probably didn’t apply here. No one had a regular white-collar job any more. A mayor was just a man with the best ideas, and the citizens were people who agreed, nothing more. It almost horrified him, the thought of living without a dictated schedule. He was brought back to his days at M.I.T, where he was kept on a strict schedule damn near down to when he could use the bathroom. Between blood tests, rewires, and even stress tests, there was never a minute of his day that wasn’t pre-planned.

            Griffin felt his mind wearing on him, his nerves revving up at the thought of before. Shaking himself, he made his way to the guest house Mayor Orden had pointed out, Dogmeat hot on his heels. The door was unlocked, and there were a few clean beds and dusty blankets strewn about. One other person was there, on the bed closest to the door with a rusty old hunting rifle balanced by their nightstand.

            As quietly as possible, Griffin pulled off his chest and leg armor, undoing the wraps around his wrists last before kicking off his boots. Once he was finished with that, he unbuckled the packs on Dogmeat’s back and set it next to the old pack he had, as well as his ammo bag, in the corner next to his chosen bed. With a final stretch, Griffin unzipped the pant legs on his jumpsuit to let his leg breathe, impressed with how well the patch job was holding up.

            Griffin thought back to when a raider had yelled ‘synth’ at him, and grabbed a thick blanket to drape over his lower half, just in case someone woke him up in the morning. No need to stir the pot and add his prosthetic leg into the mix just yet. Once Griffin crawled into bed, Dogmeat followed suit and settled over his feet on the end of the bed with a grumble. The Pip-Boy sat on his own nightstand next to his pistol, the green diagnostics blinking lowly with Vault Tec’s propaganda flashing by periodically. With a final sigh, Griffin settled in for the night, reminding himself to ask about Shaun as his mind drifted and he dreamed of robot dogs and stuck up societies.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honest Dan more like crazy red neck dude amirite? Anyways - I'm sure y'all know the story of Covenant - if you don't, for sure check out! It's creepy and kind of horrifying! Next time - Griffin's feeling of unease gets worse and things take a more sinister turn. Stay tuned! Reviews and favorites and follows keep me goin'!


	12. The Sky is a Neighborhood Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin get's a rude awakening and involuntarily gets to play detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhlaksdjflkasd I HAVE NO EXCUSE, I LOVE YOU ALL

Griffin awoke from a rather well rested night to the sound of the turrets whirring from his open window and yelling outside the guest house door. Scowling, he groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, Dogmeat already perked and watching the door.

            “…not very neighborly, Mr. Dan! You leave him alone!”

            “Not until I get my answers. I know something seriously fucked up is going on here, _mayor!_ ”

            Sighing, Griffin knew he couldn’t ignore it much longer. He sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep grit from his eyes and squinting around the room. His roommate had already left for the day, the bed made, and their stuff gone. With a final look around the room, he threw the covers over his own body to the side of his bed and checked his leg. A couple of fuzzes were stuck to the edges of the patch job, but not enough to warrant a good scrubbing. Griffin opted to check it out later, or even talk to the doctor here about it and see what they could do.

            Griffin swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched his back, grunting at the small pops and cracks. He hadn’t slept in a real bed in a while, and his body was angry about it. Dogmeat trotted around him as he slid his boots back on and latched his Pip-Boy onto his wrist. Jackson’s knife slid easily into his boot, and the 10mm, on his hip. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t be shot upon at any given moment, even though this place was picture perfect. Griffin breathed in and out deeply, calming himself before he marched to the door and swung it open.

            The sky was a lovely mixture of baby blue and fluffy white clouds; the chilly breeze gave him an idea of it being early in the morning. Mayor Orden was having a heated debate with Honest Dan, and they kept pacing around each other like wild cats. Talia and the farmer, Ted, stood by, watching with stoic masks. A woman in a green dress was unlocking a door with a sign that proudly proclaimed _Penny’s Shop_ and was ignoring the whole ordeal. A few bystanders he hadn’t met yet were watching, too, but looked annoyed.

            “You’ve just about run out of chances, Mr. Dan! I can’t have you harassing my people without consequences! I’m sorry for your friends in the caravan, but I think you know as well as I do that you’re not going to find what you’re looking for here!” The Mayor yelled, his cheeks red and his chest heaving. Honest Dan was glowering down at him, arm clenched and about ready to reach for his own gun.

            Oh, _fuck._

            Griffin decided now was the time to choose a side, and he ran across the grassy field, Dogmeat sprinting beside him, waving his hands at the two men as he got closer.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Guys, c’mon, can’t we talk out whatever’s going on here? Jeez!” Griffin exclaimed, making damn sure both of the gentlemen knew that he, too, was packing heat.

            “Look, Griffin, you _know_ I’m right! I know we just met, but even you can tell everyone here’s a few kittens short of a pet shop!” Honest Dan snapped, glaring at everyone watching. They took the point and whipped around, beginning to do their own thing. Talia began hammering loudly at a random slab of metal and Ted just stared at his garden. They were obviously trying to look like they were working, and doing a piss poor job at it, but Griffin knew they were still paying close attention.

            “Oh please, what rubbish are you trying to spread now?! Next, you’ll try and tell us that we’ve poisoned the lemonade! That we’re cannibals! Griffin, please, have we shown you anything but the best hospitality?” Mayor Orden asked, waving his hand towards the guest house to remind him exactly who’s roof he slept under. Griffin huffed, resting his hands on his hips as he looked between the two men.

            “Look, I’m not going to deny that I’m uncomfortable, _but!”_ Griffin snapped, seeing both of them react, “But…that can be said about any new guy in a new place. It’s not all sunshine and daisies when you make new friends. That being said, I think Dan has a right to be a little upset – his contract is coming up tits and this is probably his best lead. That doesn’t mean you have to be a righteous dick, though!” Griffin clarified, wagging his finger at the taller, long haired man. They both watched him with bewilderment and annoyance, as if having an outsider dictate them was even worse than what would have transpired.

            “I suppose you have a point, Griffin. However, since you appear so _good_ at this, why don’t you do the investigation yourself, huh? Since I’m too _emotional_ and he’s too _prejudice._ ” Honest Dan growled, glaring at Mayor Orden once more. The Mayor threw up his arms in anger.

            “I won’t let you subject an innocent bystander to your nonsense case!” He spat. Griffin cleared his throat to bring their attention back to him.

            “I think this innocent bystander can make his own decisions! How about I just …do it? It’s an outside perspective, and I’ve basically known the both of you for the same amount of time, so I won’t have any bias.” Griffin explained. Dogmeat was whining at his side, causing Griffin to reach down and give him a quick scratch, hoping to calm the dog.

            “I guess you’re right. Well, we can start right now. I can give you my notes and information on what’s going on here. I don’t have any proof, but I _know_ Covenant is involved.” Honest Dan reiterated, handing over a beat up note pad. Griffin flipped through it briefly, taking note of descriptions, times, and locations. Once he finished leafing through it, he nodded to himself before looking up at the Mayor with raised brows.

            Mayor Orden was _not_ impressed.

            “I know I probably stepped on a lot of toes here, but I figure since this is a better alternative to you two shooting each other. I’ll isolate myself from both of you once I’ve asked my questions to keep my opinion my own and then let you both know, at the same time, what I’ve found. Sound good?” Griffin asked, eyeing them both. They both nodded in agreement, still unhappy but coming to Griffin’s side. “Great! I’ll get started. Thank you, gentlemen. Enjoy your day.” Griffin said with a smirk, turning on his heel and walking towards Penny’s Shop. Surely some food would do him good before he ran off half-cocked.

            The store owner, who was probably Penny, gave him a bright grin when he walked in.

            “Welcome, sweetie! I think that was just so kind of you to offer your services to Mr. Dan. I hope you weren’t given too hard of a time! If you ask me, I’m not exactly sure _how_ such a rude man passed the test. Anyways – welcome to my store! I’m Mrs. Fitzgerald, but _you,_ handsome, can call me Penny.” She winked, walking over to her cupboards and unlocking the doors, opening them to display the array of food she had.

            “Oh, wow, uh. Hi, Penny. Thanks for thinking I made the right decisions, I just did it sort of spur of the moment. I’m just not a fan of conflict.” Griffin said, trying to appear bashful and nervous while leaning against the store counter. If he could warm up to the store keeper, he’d probably get some good clues. Penny giggled, setting out her merchandise for the day in appealing ways.

            “Well, I think it was a great thing to do. If you have any questions, you be sure to let me know. Now, can I interest you in a little good ol’ fashion bartering?”

            “I’m more interested in just grabbing some breakfast, if you don’t mind.”

            “Not at all, sweetie. I’ve got some radstag jerky made right here in Covenant by my husband for 10 caps a piece, if you’re interested!” She smiled, pulling out the bundles of meat. Griffin’s mouth watered at the idea of it, and he fished through his pockets for the caps.

            He counted it out for her and she handed him a hefty bundle.

            “Oh, Penny, I only paid for one –”

            “Well, I’ve thrown in an extra for being such a good customer!” She gave hum another wink and waved, signaling their business was done. He smiled back at her and thanked her, nearly running into another woman who was making her way in.

            “Ah, shit, every time…my bad!”

            “It’s alright. I’m guessing you’re the new guy that everyone’s talking about. We haven’t met yet.” The woman held out her hand, the white lab coat she donned nearly covering her fingers. Griffin took it, giving it a firm shake. “I’m Patricia, the resident doctor here. And you must be Griffin.”    

            “You bet.”

            “Nice to meet you. Let me know if you get into any trouble!” Dr. Patricia said, releasing his hand and continuing inside. Griffin eyed the doctor a little closely, not sure he was a fan of how off putting she made him.

            _Later, Griffin._

            Shaking himself, he continued outside, bringing a piece of jerky to his mouth to gnaw on as he flipped through Dan’s notes more carefully.

            The guy had barely any writing skills; the words were all spelled phonetically and there were diagrams that made little sense on every page. The gist was easy to get – Covenant bad, caravan good, and the people were weird as hell. Sighing, he finished up his jerky before walking through the small suburban landscape, not unaware of the fact that it reminded him so much of patrolling. Griffin pulled the cigarettes out of his breast pocket, lighting one with ease and turned his Pip-Boy to the classical music station he’d found.

            Dogmeat trotted along beside him, his tail swaying gently. The folk here had left some dog food out for him over night, reminding Griffin once again the harsh reality of having another mouth to feed. Dogmeat held his own, though. If no dog food was available, the dog would just run off and find his own rabbit to munch.

            Humming, he came to a stop while Mozart played softly in the background. The turrets chugged away, pointing outward and sweeping the area.

            “Why do they need so much protection?” Griffin muttered to himself, tapping his chin. He took another drag from his cigarette before patrolling once more. He talked to a few of the settlers, explaining that he chose no sides and just wanted answers. He found that Talia and Penny were mentioned quite a bit as being big players with more information. This confused Griffin a bit, since Talia didn’t really seem to know her lefts from rights.

            “What kind of music is this?” Dan’s voice grumped from behind him. Griffin rolled his eyes, lowering the volume on his Pip Boy.

            “Look, if you don’t stop sneaking up on me, we’re gonna have some issues. And it’s classical music, you swine.” There wasn’t any real heat behind his words, just exasperation not unlike a mother with her four-year-old. Honest Dan just rolled his eyes right back.            

            “At least I’m not the weirdo composing music over here. You find anything on these freaks?” He asked, looking around him furtively as if expecting to be ambushed at any moment.

            “No, I literally just started investigating like an hour ago. I talked to the neighbors and they all seemed friendly enough. Talia and Penny have the most information according to the word of mouth, so I’m going to go and press them for some details. _And no,_ you can’t come with. I intend to keep my word and won’t be swayed.” Griffin said sternly, feeling more and more like a parent than he really wanted to. He already missed the light heartedness he shared with everyone in Sanctuary, not happy with how serious he felt himself become.

            “Fine, but whatever you find, just…come to me, first. You know damn well that the first piece of evidence you find is going to be in our favor.”

            “ _Your_ favor, Mr. Dan.” Griffin reminded him, stubbing out this cigarette. The wastelander just held his hands up in mock surrender, backing away before turning around and heading back to his tent to sulk.

            Shaking his head, Griffin looked at his Pip-Boy and was surprised to see that it had been a good few hours since he started this investigation. He’d barely been here a total of 24 hours and he was already neck deep in bullshit politics.

            _Ugh._

            “C’mon, Dogmeat, let’s go talk to Talia.” He sighed, scanning the small settlement for the twitchy mechanic. Griffin saw her head bob out from behind one of the buildings, tool belt slung around her waist and a sheet of metal in her hands. He walked over to her area, making sure that he was as noisy as he could be to not alarm her.

            “Hey, Talia?”

            “Oh, hi Griffin! Nice to see you. Did you come to help me reinforce the sides of the houses here?” She asked in her feeble voice, wiping her hands on her thighs. Griffin nodded, deciding that it’d be easier to talk and work. Talia talked better with her hands than she did with her actual words.

            They worked in companionable silence for about fifteen minutes, the thin pieces of metal lining up nicely against each other as they hammered them in.

            Griffin chose now a better time than any to start the interrogation.

            “So, what’s up with Dan? I know he keeps going on about this caravan, but honestly I don’t see anything wrong here.” Griffin tried his best to sound bitter about it. Talia sighed lightly.

            “I know you’re on the investigation, but I am glad that you’re seeing how great this place is. I think he’s just not happy because someone in his caravan failed the test. I, I don’t know who, though. But, look at this place! It’s so great. I just don’t see why he thinks were hiding something.”

            Griffin hummed in agreement, hiding the fact that Talia had just handed him a juicy lead. Trying to keep his questions light and uninterested, he continued to ask her about her work and how her day was going. Once he was sure she was lulled into a false sense of security, he excused himself to go grab lunch and lemonade from Penny.

            “Thanks for your help, Griffin. You’ll fit in just fine here!”

            Griffin couldn’t help but internally cringe at this idea. Dogmeat seemed to sense the discomfort and grumbled up at him, ears perked and tail wagging questioningly.

            “All good, buddy. We’ll be done here soon.” Griffin mumbled, pushing to door open to Penny’s shop. He unbuttoned the top part of his jumpsuit, shrugging out of the sleeves and tying it around his waist, stretching before fixing the shop keeper with a grin. “Heya, Penny! Got any more of that jerky?”

            Penny give him an appreciative glance before shaking herself and pulling out more of the jerky and a few extra things of food. Griffin sauntered over, leaning against the counter. He knew he wasn’t an eye sore or anything and figured now was the best time out of any to try and frisk Penny for information.

            “My, I didn’t realize you had markings on your arms. I think I’ve heard about those, the tattoos? I know raiders seem to have markings but yours are so much neater. Why is that?” She pondered, reaching across the counter to trace some lines. Griffin chuckled and shrugged.

            “Because I’m a classy man, Penny.”

            “Ha! Oh, Griffin. Hey, it’s my break time here anyways – have a Nuka Cola with me?” She asked, plucking two bottles out of her small cooler along with a cigarette, walking behind the counter. Her green dress rustled quietly with her long strides. Griffin agreed to go with her, taking his own items along. 

            They sat at a small bistro table outside of the house-turned-shop, the afternoon sun warming their backs lazily. Griffin bit into his jerky, chewing thoughtfully while Penny opened their Nuka Colas.

            “Thanks!” Griffin smiled, taking a grateful swig. Just as he remembered, it was sugary and tangy at the same time. Dogmeat nosed his calf, begging for a strip of jerky. Griffin dropped him a piece before turning to Penny.

            “So, how’s your little investigation going? Can I tell Mr. Dan to leave without being rude yet?” She asked slyly, causing Griffin to narrow his eyes.

            “You’re telling me. So far, I’ve got nothing.”

            “Yeah, and he’s _such_ a bully. I can’t remember the last time I could lock up without getting interrogated on my entire walk from here to my own _bed.”_ Penny grumbled, lighting her cigarette. Griffin decided to do the same, trying to match her body language. He hated doing that to her, she seemed too kind, but the facts were there; something fishy was happening, regardless of who was actually knee deep in fish guts.

            “Oh, believe me. I was walking the perimeter, just checking it out, and he just appears behind me without warning. He made fun of the music I’m listening to for crying out loud!” Griffin scoffed, rolling his eyes. He puffed angrily on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke forcefully. Penny groaned in sympathy and agreement.

            “I mean, it’s super nice that you’re doing this and all, but if he could just go bother the other guys, that would be spectacular. I have a shop to run! A small business! I have enough worries.” _The other guys?_ Griffin’s ears perked as he mentally logged this bit of information away. If there was another neighborhood around Covenant, he’d have to investigate anyways. It didn’t look like there were, so it could only mean one thing.

            “Exactly! There’s nothing here; it’s so relaxing and calm, but he’s kind of ruining that whole vibe.” Griffin blew a lazy smoke ring, waiting for Penny to give him the information he needed.

            “At this point, I just want to tell him to go over to the sewers across the lake; it’s so much more exciting than here, and at least we won’t have to deal with him anymore.” She rolled her eyes, and the moment she brought the cigarette to her lips, her eyes widened minutely before she schooled her expression. “Not that there’s anything there, anyways. Just an angry old man like him.”

            _Money._

            “You’re right.” Griffin chose to agree, smoking thoughtfully. So, he’d have to expand his radius of investigation. Not a big deal. No doubt Honest Dan would ambush him for his information. As much as he hated to admit it, it looked like the other man was right about this place. Griffin didn’t feel good about that thought; he was really getting tired of reading people wrong in the wasteland.

            “Well, time to head back in. Thanks for sharing a Nuka Cola with me!” Penny said, standing hurriedly and grabbing his empty bottle on the way back inside.

            “Yeah, no problem…” Griffin called, in no hurry to move. It was always about appearances here. The moment he acted like Penny’s admission affected him, it would be game over. The sun sat lower in the sky than he remembered, and when he checked his Pip Boy, he saw it was about three in the afternoon.

            _Oh, yeah. It’s that time of year._

            Sighing, Griffin stretched, mentally assessing the outcomes of what he might find in this sewer area. If it was damning to Covenant, would he be able to just walk away? Sneak away?

            “Hello there! Would you like some of Deezer’s fresh lemonade?” A painstakingly familiar voice inquired, causing Griffin to nearly pull his pistol. Turning slowly, he saw a Mister Handy, its eyes held at lazy angles, a small canister of lemonade held in its claw. Griffin narrowed his eyes before reaching and grabbing the beverage from it.

            “What’s…what’s in it?” He asked dumbly, not sure how to interrogate a robot. It chuckled in its mechanical voice, doing a small twirl before going on about secret ingredients and fresh lemons. There wasn’t a lemon tree in sight. Griffin just agreed with the robot to appease it, thanking it for the lemonade before deciding to take a stroll outside of Covenant.

            There was an angry old man to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AW YEAH COVENANT. I LOVE COVENANT. CAN'T WAIT FOR COVENANT TO EFF UP OUR BOY GRIFF. (or will it) (it probably will) (MAYBE?)


End file.
